The Dark Forest
by Sdeaf
Summary: War rages all across the forest of Darkovia between the Werewolves and the Vampires. This story follows the exploits of one vampire warrior named Damian as he seeks to survive in this hellish world. T rating is for violent deaths.
1. The Hunter's Spear

1

The Hunter's Spear

John crouched behind a large tree and watched a figure walk down the road towards him. He smiled in anticipation as he thought of performing another robbery and possibly even getting to kill again. This was what he lived for: the thrill of the fight, the sensations of victory, and most of all, the satisfaction that came with pocketing his quarry's gold. That last part was the best, and was also the only reason he did what he did. The thrills and all that were good, but they just could not compare to watching those pieces of gold and silver slide their way into his pouch. And besides, the thrill had diminished since he had formed a gang to make sure that he would not get in harm's way unless it was absolutely necessary. Not that he was a pushover, far from it. He had yet to meet a man that could beat him in fight, but it did help to have five or six men with you when you want to do the really complicated heists. Granted, this did take a bit away from the final amount of loot he got, but it was usually worth it.

He looked around and surveyed his gang. They were scattered in various positions around the road, and the only reason he could see them now was because he had placed each of them himself. He had seven people altogether: six were humans and one was a Drakel, (a lizard-like humanoid that was exceptionally intelligent.) Of his men, four of them were at least passable with blades and two, the Drakel and a human named Bill, were quite proficient with them. The only one who was almost no good with any kind of bladed weapon besides a knife, was also the only woman present: John's sister, Krystal. No one cared about her weakness, though, because she was a better shot with a bow than anyone else any of them had even seen. Krystal was and always had been John's back up, and she had saved his life too many times for him to count. None of the others in the gang really trusted her, because if she did not like you she would shoot you in the back in the middle of the fight, but John knew that she would always be there for him in a jam. They had always helped each other and watched each other's backs, ever since their father and mother had been killed by orcs so long ago…

John shook his head to clear away the cobwebs from his mind. Now was no time to be getting nostalgic. The traveler was almost to his gang's position. He was close now; almost close enough for John to give the signal to attack. Just a few more seconds, but then he heard a twig snap off to the side as Ben shifted from one foot to another. Now, anywhere else, even if a snapping twig was heard it would have been ignored, but Darkovia Forest was not "anywhere else." The sound of that little twig snapping shot through the air and seemed like two swords clashing for all of the noise it made. John cursed silently as he saw the traveler jerk his head up and quickly identify the situation he was in. John sighed; there was nothing left to do except go for bluster or just kill him. He yelled the signal and everyone besides Krystal, who was there to make sure nothing unexpected happened, ran out onto the road and surrounded the traveler. John came out last for dramatic effect, and he made the most of it as he swaggered out of the cover of the forest with his ornate sword and shield in his hands. He grinned savagely and called out.

"Hail stranger. It seems that your choice to travel around Darkovia at night was a poor one this time. Give us all of your gold, weapons, and anything else you carry that could possibly be of value and we just might just let you live. Refuse, and I'm afraid we just might have to kill you and piss on your dead body after hanging it naked and upside-down on a cross for all to see." He had no intention of doing anything other than robbing this man, but he enjoyed being as imaginative and descriptive as he could just to drive in the point that this was, in fact, a robbery.

The traveler was wearing a large, brown cloak that covered all of his body with its folds and had a large hood that covered most of his face. He raised his head and looked at John, but with the hood over his face, John could not get a good look at him. He stared at John for a moment before he spoke.

"I think not friend. I have no desire to be robbed tonight."

John's grin disappeared. "Kill him."

The four passable fighters all lunged towards the traveler simultaneously and from different directions, while Bill and the Drakel stayed back to assess this stranger. As the bandits ran towards the traveler, he quickly cast of his brown cloak. Underneath it he had a black leather suit that seemed to be snug without being form-fitting. Without the hood over his face, John was finally able to see it in the full force of the bright moonlight. It was a nice face. It seemed handsome and a little soft, but that softness was tempered with more steel than he had seen in a long time. The traveler's hair was black and reached to just above his eyebrows. John wondered why he was dwelling on weird things like that and quickly shifted his gaze to the traveler's eyes. A quick, instinctive, burst of fear rolled down from his head to his feet and back up again as every hair he owned stood on its end. The traveler's eyes glowed a vibrant red in the moonlight. This was a vampire!

He could tell that the shock he felt was also present in the four that were charging the vampire. All four of them stopped and looked at each other long enough for the vampire to reach behind him and draw a wicked looking spear from his back. John cursed himself for not noticing but then wondered how he could have not noticed it. The shaft of the spear was six feet long, which seemed a little longer than the vampire was tall, and was black but had streaks of silver flowing up it like lightning. The blade had to have been at least a foot long and was ornately jagged. Its edges were serrated, and the tip was two different points with a small dip in between them. John assumed that this must be for catching swords or some similar battle function.

The four men were hesitating now. They were obviously surprised to find out that their helpless victim was actually a vampire. They had all heard stories about vampires from their mothers or grandmothers way back before they had probably killed said matrons, and John was sure that, at that very moment, what their late mothers had told them was running back through their heads with remarkable clarity. They even looked like they might run, until John laughed out loud and let his smile reappear.

"Remember lads, vampires bleed just like the rest of us when you stab them. There are seven of us and only one of him. And besides, I'll be willing to bet my share of the loot that he is loaded with gold."

His arrogant proclamation and his reassuring words gave them courage, so all four of them once again lunged towards the vampire. The vampire let out a grin that flashed in the moonlight and in an instant he dropped down until his knees almost touched the ground. The swords flew over him and all of the bandits had to fight against their momentum in order to avoid stabbing each other and getting stabbed in turn. Then he gripped his spear with both hands, held it close to him, and swung it out in a vicious arc around him at their shins. They all tried to back up, but Weslie stumbled and fell to the ground. It was only when he tried to get back up that he noticed his feet and half of his shins were still standing. He started screaming.

Quickly reversing the momentum, the vampire thrust his spear out behind him at the chest of another one. Ben managed to bring his sword up and deflected the stab upwards, right into his neck. He fell wordlessly to the ground as blood began to flow from the jagged wound torn into his neck by the serrated edge of the spear. The remaining two, Mark and Frank, backed off and slowly began to circle the vampire as he spun around to slide the tip of his spear through Weslie's ribs, right below the nipple, and pierce his heart. Weslie gurgled a couple times and the vampire pulled the spear out with just as much grace as he had used to place it there, leaving only a small, bleeding line where the deathblow was struck.

At that moment, Mark and Frank were trying to get on opposite ends of the vampire so that they could enact some kind of pincer attack, but before they could really start coordinating their attack strategy, the vampire sprung towards Mark with super-human speed. Mark, a big, burly man, was just able to parry the vampire's sideways swing that was to his left side. What happened then dumbfounded John. The vampire used the connection his spear had with Mark's sword to spin back around the other way, while still in the air, and lay open Mark' stomach and intestines. As Mark fell to his knees, desperately trying to keep his guts inside his stomach cavity, Frank charged the vampire with his sword in both hands and raised above his head. The vampire, having just recovered after his landing, only got a fleeting glimpse of Frank as he slammed down with his sword.

That one glance was all he needed. He rolled to the side and was back up to his feet even as Frank's sword hit the ground where he had been only a moment before. Frank frantically brought his sword back up into a decent guard position but he was lifetimes too late. The vampire launched into a series of lightning-fast stabs. Each strike found its mark as Frank tried to block all of them, but was far too slow. For a moment, he just stood where he was, a hole was gouged into his chest, arm, and stomach. Then a wail slowly rose from his throat and burst from his lips as tears ran down his cheeks. His troubles were quickly ended when the vampire turned the blade of his spear in a quick circle above Frank's head, ending it by decapitating him.

The vampire stood, stabbed Mark in the same way he had killed Weslie, wiped his spear on a part of Weslie's shirt that was not bleeding, and turned to face John, Bill, and the Drakel.

"I would hate to waste your time. Who is next?"

Bill and the Drakel both growled and were about to converge on him when John held up his hand for them to stop. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"We don't need to fight this fool, Krystal can just take him out right here and now. Krystal, deal with this blood-sucking freak. Shoot him now!"

There was no response. No arrow burying itself into the vampire's chest, or even an acknowledgement. The vampire stared at him again with a hint of something that John could not describe in his eyes.

"I am afraid that it is far too late for that my friend. Did you think I had not noticed your friend from the beginning of our little skirmish? My pets took care of her. Now if we can just forget about that, can we get back to my previous question? Who is next?"

John's body went rigid, and for a moment the entire forest swirled in front of his eyes. His strength seemed to leave his limbs and he sagged against a tree. This could not be happening. Krystal was the only one he was able to enjoy the company of anymore. They had been together since childhood, and had made a pact to never die on one another. She could not be dead. She just could not be dead.

"Kill him!" John yelled as he staggered off towards Krystal's position.

Bill yelled out a battle cry and charged the vampire, and the Drakel, thinking this to be the most sensible option, quickly followed after him. The vampire prepared himself for them and once they reached him the three of them became embroiled in a battle that might have been fun to watch had John not just heard that his sister and only companion had been killed. As it was, he paid no attention to the melee and kept walking towards Krystal's position. He had to see for himself whether what the vampire was saying was true or not.

He passed off of the badly tiled road and into the forest that blanketed the hills all around. He worked his way through the underbrush, feeling like his arms were lead with his sword and shield still in them, and finally came to where Krystal lay. He gasped. The noise made the countless bats that lay around her, sucking the very last dregs of her blood from her veins, scream in terror and fly off in a panic. One flew at him, its fangs open wide, but even in his distraught frame of mind he still sliced off its head once it was within range of him. The others all landed on various branches that were close enough for them to still see him part far away from his blade.

When he looked back at his sister he stopped caring about all of the little bats. She lay on the ground with her bow still in one hand; an arrow was notched to the string. Her mouth was opened wide in what must have been a silent scream of terror and her eyes were open wider than he thought was possible. There were eight little holes around her mouth, four on the top lip, and four on the bottom, and he realized why no one had heard her scream. Two of the bats had bit her in her mouth and kept it shut while the others stuck themselves onto her body and stole all of her blood. He continued to stare, taking in her completely white skin and all of the tiny holes that covered her body. There was no blood on her wounds or on the ground around her either. It seemed that the bats had done their job well. For just a moment John fell to his knees and a deep despair overflowed from his soul and enveloped him, but then he gritted his teeth and gripped his sword even harder. Even as tears filled around the bottom of his eyes, he swore right then and there that this vampire was going to die by his sword.

John stood up and ran back to the three-man melee that still raged back on the road and was surprised to find that the vampire was not only still alive, but that he was holding his own against Bill and the Drakel. Now, John knew very little about either Bill or the Drakel other than that Bill was once a gladiator and that his left forearm had been cut off right below the elbow at one point and that it had also been replaced by a metal one. He put said forearm to good use in every one of his fight by using it as a shield, club, or even to reinforce his sword from time to time. Bill had been the first man John hired to help him, and the two of them almost had what could be considered as a friendship. Basically, that meant that they would still kill each other, but only if they were getting paid for it. He knew almost nothing about the Drakel, not even its name. It had just walked up to him one day and offered to join his group. The only thing he had learned about it since then was that it was an extremely good fighter, amazingly intelligent, and held a healthy disdain for anything it could beat in a fight.

The vampire was definitely having a hard time of it now. Bill and the Drakel constantly attacked him, so he could do nothing except to block and evade, and this was getting harder and harder as the two of them warmed up to his blocking styles and also to each other's attacking styles. He still kept dodging and parrying, however, until he saw his opportunity. As Bill attacked low and the Drakel swung at his face, he hopped into the air slightly and twisted until he was almost parallel to the ground, making both attacks miss him, and struck out at Bill with his spear and at the Drakel with his boots. Bill was able to throw himself backwards and slammed his metal forearm down on the spear, but the Drakel took the full force of the vampire's boots in its chest and was thrown back several feet to land on its back with a loud crack. The Drakel groaned in pain but for a moment, its limbs had lost the power to move.

The vampire landed in a crouching position and leapt towards Bill, who had just recovered as well, with the same move he had used against Mark. Bill twisted his right wrist and smacked the spear's tip away from his side with his sword and an almost contemptuous chuckle. Once again, the vampire used the blades to push himself around in mid-air and swung back around the other way to slice at Bill's stomach. Bill, having seen the attack earlier, just dropped his shoulder down and let his metal forearm block for his stomach. There was a resounding clang and for the first time the vampire's attack failed. Bill smiled and slashed out with his sword. The vampire's ducked under this and retaliated, but this also was blocked. Now Bill just looked smug.

" Well, well, well, it seems like the big, bad, vampire can't seem ta' get through my handy little metal arm to land a hit now can he?"

The vampire smiled back. The smile seemed genuine, which made it all the more mocking. "Yes, I complement you on the good use of that arm. I suppose I will just have to do something about that."

Bill growled and stabbed out. The vampire spun his spear perpendicularly to the ground and batted the blow far to the side, too far. As Bill staggered, because he kept his hold on his sword, the vampire let go of the spear with one hand and sliced at his stomach again. Bill readied his arm even as he regained his posture and for a moment he wondered why the vampire was being so repetitive. He found out why too late when, at the last second, the vampire lifted his arm and flicked his wrist downward. In one quick motion Bill's entire arm past his biceps was gone. Red filled Bill's sight as his metal forearm clanged to the ground, and he took several steps back. His arm did not hurt yet, but he knew that he had precious little time before the shock ceased and the pain would become unbearable. This was just like that last time his arm had been cut off. He just had to compose himself and attack before he became useless.

Summoning all of his remaining strength, he charged the vampire and swung with his remaining arm. Despite all of his thoughts, however, it was a slow, clumsy strike, and the vampire easily ducked under it before shoving his spear up and piercing Bill through the jaw, mouth, and finally through his brain. When the spear finished, the two points could just barely be seen coming out of the top of his head. Bill had no time for a reaction before he died and slumped to the ground.

The vampire placed his boot on Bill's chest in an effort to yank out his spear, but before he could he heard the Drakel, who had just recovered, charging towards him. He just barely managed to jump to the side as it swung down viscously. The vampire rolled once before getting his feet under him and springing back up. The Drakel, thinking the vampire was unarmed, yanked its sword out of Bill's chest and charged after him with wild abandon. When it got to him it slashed downwards again. He rolled to the side and, when it slashed down at him again, checked himself to roll back the other way. It slashed horizontally and he threw himself back. This time, however, when he recovered himself the Drakel was above him. It allowed itself a small smile of victory and slashed down one last time. There was a resounding clash as metal met metal and the Drakel gaped at the vampire, who now held a sword in his hands. He had apparently been carrying it the entire fight. The vampire pushed off the Drakel's sword and slashed out, with the sword in his right hand. The Drakel fall back and put itself in a fighting stance. It was no fool and had only fought wildly earlier because it had believed its prey was unarmed.

"Where do you keep all of thessse weaponsssss?" It asked the vampire. Since Drakels were not built to speak our language John noticed that they always had a bit of a lisssp.

"I am sure you would like to know, however, I have no time to be telling my secrets to a lizard." The vampire was coldly formal now.

They circled each other. Both of them were daring the other to attack. John watched them for a bit before taking a step forward.

"Look, this whole 'honorable duel' thing, or whatever, is really getting on my nerves. I'm joining this battle."

"No!" The Drakel was adamant; "I will dessstroy thisss pathetic vampire myssself, bosss."

John knew better than to get in the Drakel's way when it was like this. He sighed again and leaned back against a tree. Maybe the Drakel would kill it, but if it did not, he could always just finish it off himself. One thing he was sure of, though, and that was that, no matter who it was that did it, that vampire was going to die tonight.

As they circled for a bit more, the Drakel studied the vampire's sword. It was made from a very strange metal, one that was either black or a very dark shade of gray. There were runes etched into the sides of it that were of a language the Drakel could not understand. This was saying something, Drakels are known for the pride they take in knowing every living language and many dead ones, and he had been lauded for his linguistic capabilities in his home city before he had been exiled. It was a sword of normal shape and looked like it could be used with two hands, but the vampire was only using one. The hand guard was made of the same material as the sword but was, surprisingly, not ornate. There was just enough in it to provide full protection, but that was all. The handle also seemed able to be used comfortably with either one or two hands.

The Drakel broke their little waiting game first. It lashed out with a quick, searching jab, that the vampire swiftly blocked before slashing down. The Drakel dodged to the side, and as it did, it threw out its sword in a strike that relied on its body's movement rather than its arm's movement. Instead of blocking this time, the vampire leapt to the side along with the Drakel, beating the strength of the attack, and twisted his body to the side, sending his sword out with his right hand to get as much extension as he could on his strike. The Drakel saw the jab coming just in time and slammed its feet into the ground with enough force to stop its sideways movement and send it flying straight backwards, but it was still too slow to fully evade the strike. The tip of the sword gouged into its breastplate and just barely pierced its flesh. It was a negligible wound but a wound none-the-less, and it was also bleeding.

The Drakel's eyes went red for a moment and it lunged forward with its sword pointed right at the vampire's chest. The vampire swung his sword down and smacked the attack away. The two of them looked at each other for a moment before both of them spun to their right, grabbed the handles of their swords with both hands, and smashed their swords together at the end of their spins. Instead of moving to another attack, they both kept their swords together. Their muscles strained as the two swords dragged against each other in their efforts to subdue and overpower one another. They stood there and eyed each other for several seconds as neither moved, but then, ever so slowly, the vampire's sword moved closer to the Drakel and the Drakel's sword began to buckle underneath it. A look of panic momentarily shot across the Drakel's face but it was quickly replaced by a twisted grin as it bared its many fangs to the moonlight. While still keeping its arms strained in its ever-worsening struggle, it spoke out in its strange language.

"Ssslythrin Lathna."

Its sword began humming and a look of curiosity etched itself on the vampire's face. This look soon turned to one of extreme agony as lightning erupted from the hilt of the Drakel's sword, ran up its length, and spread from its sword to the vampire's sword, and then to the vampire. He jerked around for a few moments before crumpling onto the ground, twitching for a few seconds, and finally falling still. The Drakel walked up to the corpse, and savagely kicked it several times. Once it was sure that the vampire was in fact dead, it looked back at John and grinned again.

"Well done, wasss it not bosss?"

John grinned back and even clapped once, although he did regret not being able to kill the vampire himself. "Indeed, it was very well done. Search his pockets and I suppose we'll split it fifty-fifty."

The Drakel was pleased by this and even hissed a bit as it kicked the vampire over onto his back, straightened out his limbs, and began to search through his pockets, pouches, and whatever else he had. It soon found out why they had not seen his weapons until he pulled them out. He had a sheath about a foot long on his back and another about half a foot long at his waist but still behind him. Both were open on one side but closed on the other and, upon closer inspection, it found out that whatever you put into them disappeared until a certain length. So about only another foot of the spear's shaft and only the handle of the sword actually showed while they were put away.

"That's intelligent," John mused.

In addition, the Drakel found a knife about a foot long inside a normal sheath, and a small throwing knife inside one of his boots. It also found ten thousand-gold pieces inside his pouch, which was a handsome sum. It was actually enough to reform his group and still have a bit left over. It found nothing else of interest until it unbuttoned the vampire's leather overshirt and found that he was wearing a silver necklace with a silver cross at the end of it around his neck.

"Fancy a vampire wearing a cross around," John mused again. "I suppose he kept it between his over and inner shirt so that it wouldn't burn him to death. You can have that if you wish. I'm sure it will fetch a nice price at Amityvale."

The Drakel grinned again and grabbed the necklace. As it was about to rip it off, though, a hand wrapped itself around the Drakel's wrist and the vampire's eyes flew open.

"Aww, sssh-" Was all the Drakel was able to get out before the vampire's boot connected with its breastplate and threw it back. It landed on its feet and scrambled to get its sword back as the vampire did the same. It got its first, however, because it had taken his weapons and thrown them about ten feet behind them when it was searching him. It stayed between his weapons and him and held its sword out in front of it.

"How are you alive?" It queried.

"I am a vampire little lizard, how could I be killed by electricity?"

"Well, regardlesss, give yourssself up to usss. You have no weaponsss and there are two of usss. You have no chance."

He did not reply but tweaked his head to the side. The Drakel saw something flying at it from the corner of its eye and turned to see an over-sized bat speeding towards it. It swung around and sliced the bat in two before turning back around and resuming its original position. The whole move was performed with stunning grace and precision and could not have taken more than a second, but when it came back the vampire was nowhere to be seen. It looked around swiftly but saw nothing.

"Above you!" John yelled as fast and loud as he could.

The Drakel looked up in time to see the vampire come down and chop it in the side of the neck. The Drakel listed to the side as pain was sent down its spine but in another second it was recovered and was about to turn around when it suddenly lost all feeling in its legs. It wondered what was wrong but as it turned its head around it saw the vampire with his sword stuck halfway into its body. Its armor was well made, and as such, the vampire was not able to fully cut it in half, but its spine was severed and it felt nothing when the vampire ripped his sword out to the side and pierced through the back of its heart. He ripped his sword out once more as it fell to the ground, like all of the others before it, and began to walk towards John, his sword by his side.

John looked on dumbfounded as it finally dawned on him that his entire group had just been killed off. He looked at Bill's pierced head, the two holes in the Drakel's breastplate, and finally, the menacing vampire that was walking towards him. This thing had to be the strongest fighter he had ever even seen. For one panic-filled second he thought about running away, but then he pictured Krystal lying on the ground with dozens of little bite marks all over her body. He remembered his pledge to his father right before his father died that he would protect his sister with his life or that he would never allow her to die without recompense. John looked at the vampire and his mind spun as he calculated everything he would need.

"She's dead." He was trying to buy time. It worked. The vampire stopped and looked at him.

"Who is?"

"Krystal, my sister. You killed her and now I am alone in this world." John reached behind him and grabbed a small vial with his shield hand.

For a moment, it actually looked like the vampire was saddened by this new, but then that steel entered his eyes again. "If you do not wish to lose your loved ones, do not place them in harms way."

John yelled and charged the vampire with his sword held above his head. He started swinging haphazardly once he reached the vampire, but kept his shield next to his body. He was hoping that the vampire assumed he was emotionally distraught, and his ploy paid off. The vampire seemed content to just evade his sweeping attacks for a bit, and John thought it was laughable just how much the vampire underestimated him at that moment. Still, he kept on swinging wildly, just waiting for that one point when the vampire's arrogance would be at its peak. There it was! He was swinging back down diagonally after having swung upwards. The vampire smiled and just dropped his head back, making the sword pass mere inches away from his throat. John was smiling now. He shot out his shield hand and threw the vial of holy water he had been holding at almost point-blank range.

The vampire's eyes widened as he recognized just what was inside that little glass canister and John let out an exultant yell. His happiness was premature and short lived, though, for at the last possible second the vampire tried to dodge and, using more speed than seemed possible to John, he succeeded in moving the majority of his face out of the way. He still screamed in agony when the glass vial hit his right cheek and burst, spewing holy water all along the right side of his face, but he was still alive. Almost instantly after the holy water touched him his flesh began to dissolve and disintegrate.

The vampire threw himself back but John had no intention of letting him get any reprieve to gather his wits. He charged towards him and swung down with all of his might. What happened next was all a blur to John. All he saw was his sword being blocked, and then he was looking up at the moon and stars. He staggered backwards before he looked back down to see the vampire complete his flip-kick and rise from the ground. Then the pain set in. John's entire head burned with pain and his jaw felt like it was about to fall off. He just hoped he had not lost any teeth. As he reeled in pain, though, he looked at the vampire and saw that his entire right cheek and his right ear were gone. The holy water had stopped peeling away at his flesh, but the effects of it were obvious. He also had a long gash along his right forearm where he had pressed it against John's sword while he did the flip.

'Well, if he can fight through something like that, then I most certainly can.' John winced but still kept his composure.

They paced off now, just like the Drakel had. Unlike the Drakel, though, John was very worried. He knew that he could not get that trick of his to work again, even though he still had a couple of vials left, and what was worse was that the vampire no longer underestimated him. This basically meant that he had no choice except to win this fight semi-fairly. The mere thought of this concept left a bad taste in his mouth, But any thoughts quickly left him as the vampire charged at him and shot out a lightning-quick jab. John blocked it and they set out into a quick skirmish. The exchange of blows could not have been longer than ten seconds, but in that time John realized that there was no way he could win this with conventional fighting. His realization was further reinforced by the vampire swatting his sword to the side and kicking him full in the chest. His breath left him faster than his last girlfriend and, once again, he fell backwards as the vampire followed his vicious kick with a thrust. John, even without his breath, was still able to turn his body over, plant his shield on the ground, and spin back around to barely slice the vampire in his side. Before the vampire could retaliate John disengaged himself and jumped out of his range. The vampire seemed as if he was ready to pursue but then he grunted and looked down at the small cut in his side as it grew into a hole in his muscles. His skin shriveled away and wafted out in the wind. He looked back at John.

"Yea, when this sword was forged, it was constantly cooled in holy water. So now it's pretty much saturated with the stuff. I never expected to see a vampire this far north, but I made sure to be ready if I ever did," John taunted.

The vampire made no reply except to calmly walk back to his pile of weapons and pick up his spear. He faced John and threw it. It flew a perfect arc and headed straight at his chest. John lifted his shield but just as he did he noticed his mistake. He should have dodged. The spear clanged against his shield with great force but was deflected. When he brought his shield down, however, his fears were confirmed. The vampire had thrown his small knife and was charging with his sword. John was forced to try to deflect the knife with his sword and, when that was successful, throw his hips back when the vampire sliced at them. He just barely managed to avoid having his bowels aired out like mark had, but on the other hand, this position gave him a perfect shot at the vampire's outstretched arm. He brought his sword back and hacked down again, but the vampire had anticipated this and spun to his left, giving plenty of force to a chop that was like the one the he had exchanged with the Drakel. John knew better than to do the same thing that the Drakel had done, and he prepared to take the attack on his shield.

Then, a thought entered his mind. It seemed crazy, but crazy was the only thing that would save him right now. He pointed the tip of his sword down, and crossed it over his body. His block just barely worked and really only succeeded in halting most of the forward momentum from the strike. That was all he had wanted it to do. He spun to his left, towards the vampire's sword, bent his knees down until he was looking at the vampire's waist, and finished the spin by slamming his shield into the back of the vampire's left leg. This forced the vampire to put all of his weight onto his left leg as he stumbled, putting him in the perfect position for John's sword which was swiftly following his shield on its way towards that same leg.

'Got you!' John exulted.

But then something happened he had not accounted for. With his other leg bent and his left leg his only support, the vampire lifted his foot up and slammed it down on John's sword as it passed by. John gasped in amazement and the vampire swiftly stabbed his sword into John's hand, pinning it to the ground, before grabbing John by the neck with his other hand, lifting him up, and slamming him against a tree. John cursed as his hand tore free from the sword the worst way possible and again when the small breath he had just gotten back was sent back out of him as his back smashed into the tree. It was at that moment, while looking the vampire in the eyes, that John realized the vampire had not just expected him to use that very unorthodox move, he had counted on it. And John had fallen for it.

"How, how'd you do that?"

"I am a vampire."

"Heh, I figured that part out by now. I meant to say: how could you possibly lift your foot while it was the only thing keeping you up?"

"I put my sword in the ground and pushed myself up."

"That's impossible."

"Of course."

John tried to grab another vial of holy water but the vampire pinned his other hand to the tree with his sword.

"I think not friend."

"Yea, that's smart I guess. I did make you rather ugly didn't I?"

"Yes, yes you did. Although next time you decide to rob a poor, defenseless traveler, make sure you get the 'poor, defenseless' part right."

"W-Who are you."

"If you really want to know, I am Damian, a second class vampire. And what is your name?"

John was surprised by this small bit of civility, maybe he could still live through this. "John Thornstroke. I'm a bandit, or rather, I suppose I used to be a bandit. Now I think I'm dead."

"An astute observation. Now why, John, did you decide to become a bandit and have your sister join you?"

Somehow, John realized that the answer to this question would determine whether he died or lived today. "I started to keep my wife and five children fed—." He was cut off by Damian's hand closing on his throat for just a second. He gagged when Damian relaxed his iron-hard grip.

"Do not lie to me now, John. This could very well be the last minute you spend alive in this world. You should at least spend it being very, very truthful with me."

"Fine," a dangerous gleam entered John's eyes. "I became a bandit because I love the thrill of fighting and I was discharged from the army after I disobeyed an order from my general. He told me to attack the village my sister was living in. After that, I ran to get her and we fled the village before it was destroyed. I decided to become a bandit and she would not be persuaded to leave me so I had to let her become one too. I made her the archer so that she'd never be hurt, but doing something like that obviously just isn't enough anymore now is it?"

"Obviously. Do you have any final requests?"

"Unless you can somehow bring my sister back, I have none, besides that you finish me quick."

"Unfortunately, I can do neither of those things. I am truly sorry for this turn of events John, but there seems to be nothing I can do for you now."

"I guess not." John closed his eyes and gasped when he felt his throat being ripped into and all of his blood being redirected towards that spot in his body. At first he felt tingles all over him, then he started losing feeling in his limbs and his heart began to beat faster and faster as more and more blood was demanded from it. In another minute, his heart collapsed and John felt searing pain before he blacked out.

If he had still been able to see, John would have seen Damian's cheek, ear, and side flow and flesh out with new muscles and skin until it seemed like nothing ever happened to him. He would also have seen Damian go up to each of the members in his gang, take their swords and sheaths, and put them in a bag he had made out of the rest of Weslie's shirt. He would also have seen Damian go off into the forest and return with his sister's bow and arrows before putting them into the bag, taking back his own weapons, swinging the bag over his shoulder, and walking back down the road. He walked deeper into the forest of Darkovia and left those eight where they lay. As he walked away, countless bats burst from their hiding places and descended upon the rest of the corpses. They squealed in excitement as they licked up the cooled blood on the ground or just took it directly from the bodies themselves. John might have seen all of this, but he was far beyond caring now.


	2. Virgin's Blood

2

The Virgin's Blood

Serenade walked down a street in the town of Amityvale. She had lived here her entire life, so it was easy to forget how special her hometown really was. As she walked she looked around at the multitude of houses and shops that littered the town. While it was true that Amityvale was not a city, it was still the largest town in Darkovia, and also the one that was deepest within it. The people that lived there were definitely not what normal folks would call normal, because they all had to live their lives as if each day was their last. Living with the concept of death almost constantly in front of your face produced a strange kind of person: the people who lived here seemed to always be both solemn and humorous, as if they were aware that life could end at any moment and were determined to make every day worth living. Yes, even with all of the problems that came with living inside this cursed forest, Serenade was sure that she would not trade this existence for one in any other town in of the world.

She passed by a street that crossed the one she was traveling on, and her gaze passed along the other street for a bit before it rested on the large, wooden wall that surrounded the entire village. That same wall had kept all of the vile beings that inhabited this forest from storming the village for over twenty-five years. Amityvale had only two gates, one at the north entrance and one at the south, which were closed firmly every night and constantly kept under guard. Yes, the village was definitely almost impossible to sneak into. However, even with all of the precautions that the town had taken, sometimes a vampire, werewolf, or some other monster did get into the town, but every time an incident like that did occur, the vampire slayers had immediately sent out slayers and the perpetrator had been completely destroyed. The vampire slayers also kept two of their men inside the town at all times, but it had been over five years since anyone had been killed by one of the freaks, so no one really thought too much about a vampire or werewolf attack. This is not to say that they let their guard down, they would never even consider something like that, but over the years they had gradually decreased their security.

She was still thinking about that when she passed a large mirror that the townspeople kept in the middle of the town at all times to check for vampires. She paused and fixed her hair while studying herself for a moment. She was a pretty girl by any standard: she was tall for a girl and had long, blonde hair, a fair face, and normal sized ears. She was especially proud of her ears, since both her father and her mother had abnormally large ears. She seemed remarkably mature for only being seventeen years old, but she attributed this to being born and raised in Amityvale. Letting out a long, slow sigh, she continued on her way down the street until she finally reached her destination: The Amityvale Weapons Emporium. She still had no idea what "Emporium" meant, but she felt that the owner did not really care. It was not like he knew what it meant either.

She grasped the door's circular ring handle and pulled the door outward while walking into the shop. She chuckled silently to herself as she saw the shop's owner sleeping on the counter, a sword and cloth in his hands. She grabbed a bell from a shelf and walked up on him while he snored. With a yell she slammed the bell onto the counter right next to his ear and winced as the small device pealed out its anger at being so roughly handled. While she winced a bit, he let out a high-pitched scream and flung himself back against the wall, panting.

"N-no cookies!" He yelled, looking around in panic before his eyes settled on Serenade standing before him with a bell in her hand and a smile on her face as her body shook slightly with laughter. Her smile broadened as he scowled.

"Jacob, you really should be more vigilant, what if I were a vampire or something?" She flashed her bright teeth at him, and for a moment he was tempted to not be angry with her, but then his scowl deepened and his deep brows furrowed.

"Well, if you was a vampire, at least I wouldna' had to wake up. He woulda' just killed me an' let me sleep like any other decent monster, not countin' you that is."

She laughed and then suddenly became serious. "You know Jacob, you really shouldn't stay up too late cleaning those weapons. You're not as young as you used to be, and cleaning day doesn't even officially start until noon today anyway."

"I know child, it's just that I don't like makin' you do alla' the work all the time."

"Oh please, that's why you pay me and my mom right?"

"Yea, but…"

"Listen, you go and get some sleep, I'll handle the shop and clean the weapons."

He hesitated a moment before releasing a long, melodramatic sigh. "Fine then child, but I'm paying you extra for this, you hear?"

"Yea, whatever old geezer."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ralph and Victor stood at the north gate of Amityvale, and they were bored stiff. People rarely came into this town and also rarely left through the north gate. The south gate led to the forest and was where all of the lumberjacks went out and came back in, so the guards there were at least able to talk to people during their time, but the north gate led to the other towns and out of this accursed forest. People so rarely came through it or went out of it that having guard duty there was akin to sawing a rock in two. Ralph was bored out of his mind, and he knew that Victor must be too. They had tried playing dice for a bit, and then tried talking, but as the hours dragged on, both of them had lost interest in the activities, and now there was only an awkward silence. His mind was racing as he desperately tried to think of something to do before his brain liquidated and fell out of his ears when he gasped. A person was actually walking down the road towards the town.

Ralph punched Victor in the arm, picked his halberd off the ground, and ran to his side of the gate to stand at the ready like he was supposed to all day long. By the time Victor had done the same, the person was close enough for them to realize that it was a man. He wore a brown cloak, carried a large pack on his shoulders, and had a large hat that covered his head and shoulders. Once he was close enough Victor raised his hand and called out for the man to halt. Ralph shot victor a look of annoyance, it was his job to say things like that and there was no way he was letting the rookie take the only interesting thing to happen today from him. He faced the man and called out gruffly.

"What's your business here stranger?"

"I am merely passing through on my way to a camp that is farther down inside the forest."

"Oh, and what kind of camp is this exactly?"

The man chuckled. "What kind of camp do you think? It is a lumber camp."

"Yea, I heard of a couple of those, but what will you be doing there?"

"Working."

"Mighty dangerous to be lumberjacking in this forest, especially if you're far away from Amityvale."

"I think I can handle myself, good sir."

Ralph cocked and eyebrow. "Well, your story doesn't seem too unbelievable, so now we just have one more test for you, just a small thing you know, take off your hat."

The man lifted his head again until his eyes connected with Ralph's. "I hardly think that is necessary, it would be far better if you just let me through, would it not?"

There was something strange about his eyes, but Ralph just could not place it. He mind felt strange, as if just thinking took as much energy as wading through a marsh. He knew that there was something he should be doing…but just what that something was seemed far beyond his comprehension. 'Maybe…maybe I should just…let him go…he seems…good enough…'

Ralph stuttered and gasped out. "Yea, I don't see why…we should keep you, very well…you can go…"

"Much obliged."

Victor looked at Ralph with amazement until the stranger fixed him with his gaze as well. He stood still for a moment before he nodded as well.

"Yep, everything seems fine…"

They slowly walked back to their previous positions as the stranger walked into the town. "Stupid humans, it is almost sad how little they know about us, or about how many of us have passed through here. It is a good thing most of us are too smart to cause trouble."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Serenade hummed a popular song that had been written by a bard who passed through from time to time as she ran a wet rag over an axe head. It was not double bladed, since it was not a war weapon. It was one of the many axes either Jacob, Serenade's mother, or Serenade herself had repaired for the lumberjacks but was still waiting to be picked up. There were almost as many normal axes as there were weapons inside this shop, but this was due to the fact that Amityvale was primarily a lumberjacking town. Its main export was Darkovia tree's wood, which was very valuable because most people were not stupid enough to risk their lives to cut down the gigantic trees. Still, there were enough people who were that crazy to make several towns and populate them, although most of these were made after the vampires and the others stopped making so many attacks. Still, weapons were also in high demand.

Even though vampires rarely attacked now, the local wildlife seemed to have taken over their job with great fervor. The wildlife here was definitely nothing to shake a stick at either; there were wolves the size of bears, bats the size of cats, and even the rare living dead to deal with. Yes, with all of these problems, it was no wonder that selling weapons could keep someone living rather well in this forest.

Serenade finished cleaning the axe and was about to switch over to a sword when the bell at the door rang, signaling that a customer had entered. She quickly put the sword behind the counter, cleared the rest of the items off it, and looked up with a smile.

"Welcome to The Amityvale Weapons Emporium, I'm Serenade, how may I help you?"

Standing before her was a tall stranger in a brown cloak and a large, brown hat that just barely covered his eyes. He smiled back at her and spoke in a low tone. "Thank you, I am here to conduct some business with you."

"Of course, are you coming to buy, sell, or trade?"

"I am here to sell."

She raised an eyebrow; people rarely came here to sell anymore unless they were merchants. "Your goods had better be of good quality, we at the emporium only accept those weapons that are of the highest quality since our customers' lives are at stake."

"Indeed, well, I am no judge of weapons, but I am sure that you would be able to tell for yourself. Just take a look at them and tell me whether you will buy them or not. I suppose you can just keep the ones you will not buy. I have no use for them anyway."

He swung the pack from around his back and set it on the counter before untying the crude string that bound its top, and lowering the end until the weapons inside it started to pour out on the counter. Serenade systematically pulled out each weapon, examined it, and set it aside.

The first five swords she pulled out were sturdy, but unremarkable, next came a higher-quality bow and good arrows, and then came a matching sword and shield that were very finely crafted. She grinned a bit at these and instantly reformed her price, she would give a bit more, but not too much. She did have to make a living, after all. Even as she was about to set a price she pulled out the last weapon, and despite her businesswoman-like composure, she gasped. It very well could have been the best sword she had seen in her short life. The sword was made from a bluish-gray material that she had never seen, the hand guard was intricate, and the handle seemed to be made of rubber. She gazed at it and the customer smiled again.

"If you say 'Slythrin Lathna' the blade becomes electrifying."

As soon as he said those words the blade hummed loudly for a moment before going back to normal. Serenade decided to take his word for it. Inside the bag were a few more trinkets and also something that looked like a metal forearm that she could not place a price on. She was about to offer the customer a price when she caught herself. It was policy to make the customer offer first and then barter them down.

"How much do you want for all of this?"

"I figure that two thousand gold is an extremely reasonable price."

She had to try very hard to not gape at this man. She could easily sell just the strange sword for more than three times that much. She was about to instantly agree with him when a thought entered her mind.

"And just how did you come by all of these various weapons?"

He tilted his head to the side slightly before answering. "I hardly think that matters, but just because I know you will buy them anyway I will tell you. I procured them from a group of bandits after I killed them all."

She raised one eyebrow. "This bandit group, it wouldn't happen to be John and his group would it?"

"Yes, I believe that was the leader's name."

"Hmmm, well, good riddance, We'll all be happier without them, but did you kill Krystal too?"

"Was that John's sister?"

"Yep, that's her."

"Unfortunately yes, I did."

"Well that's too bad, me and her were friends when we were young."

"I am sorry for your loss, but I have already been through this conversation. Will you buy them?"

"Heh, of course, I'd have to be daft to not accept your price."

"Yes, I suppose you are correct."

Serenade ran to the safe in the back of the store, unlocked it, and ran back to the counter with two thousand-gold coins. He collected the money, she collected the weapons, and they bid each other farewell while he headed out of the store. As he was about to go out she called after him. He turned around.

"It's getting late, you sure you want to be staying out at night? If you want I could give you directions to Amityvale's inn."

"That is not necessary, the business that I have to attend to is far too urgent for me to stop."

He opened the door, and stepped aside as another man stepped in. They exchanged glances and the second man seemed to shrink down a bit before the first customer walked past the second man and disappeared around the corner into the dusky evening. The second man walked up to Serenade and she immediately recognized him.

"Hello Michael."

"Please Serenade, call me Mike."

"Sure thing Mike, are you here for business or just stopping by?" This was just a rote question she always asked him. She knew he was just there to talk to her, because he was always there to just talk to her. He came into the shop about two or three times a week, and many people in the town had already accepted them as engaged, although Serenade had no idea where they got them from. She usually liked talking to Mike, but she really liked someone else.

She still liked the idea of flirting while she still could, however, and so she indulged in it whenever possible with any boy or man she thought would be fun. Her mother scolded her for it but she saw no harm in it. It was not like she was cruel; she just liked to get reactions out of men. Mike was being rather ardent though, and she made a mental note to put him down a bit more so that he would let up on all of the attention he was giving her.

He grinned a bit too widely and answered. "Well, I was just returning home from my job at the inn and I saw that you were in, so I decided to come by and see if you were able to come with me to see something really interesting. But… Who was that man just now?"

"Hmm? Oh, that was just some traveler who came to sell the weapons of John's gang."

"John's gang? So you're saying that that guy killed all of John's gang?"

"Yep, I guess it's a good thing you didn't join them last week isn't it?"

"Yea, I suppose so. Well, anyway, are you free?"

"Well, that depends, what are we doing?"

"Okay, that's the best part. Some of the guys and me have found the best place to hang out at night and we were wondering whether you would like to come with us tonight. It won't just be you either; we're getting almost all of the regular people to come tonight. It should be pretty dang fun. So, you comin'?"

For a moment, Serenade wondered whether she really should or not. She was supposed to watch the store, but she wouldn't be blamed if she shut up the store early. She could just tell her mother that she had been at the store late and since Jacob was not going to wake up until tomorrow he would not be able to call out her lie. She was worried about whether it was proper for a bit, but decided that she did not care.

"Sure, I'll come, when do we meet?"

"Well, We should probably leave right now. It might take us awhile to get there."

"Okay." He stepped outside of the shop for a bit while she fixed everything up and cleaned the last of the weapons. By the time she stepped out of the store, locking the door, it was almost dark.

"So, are we heading out the normal way?" she asked Mike.

"Yea, so let's split up and meet right outside the wall," he replied.

They went separate ways and Serenade was careful to make sure that no one really noticed her as she walked through alleyways and in the shadows, until she got to the greatest secret the teenagers in Amityvale had: the stairway. Over the years, several large vines had grown over the impermeable wall, and a while ago someone had carved small hand and foot holds into the wood behind a few of the large vines. The holds continued all the way over the wall and back around the other side and were very hard to spot if you did not know where to look. Serenade and her friends had been using it to get out of the town, when they did not want anyone to know that they were getting, out for a very long time. Her friends and her had always been very discreet about using the stairway and also about whom they told about it. They never let anyone who had ever ratted anyone else out know about it and they never used it on a whim. So far, no one had discovered it so they seemed to be doing well.

Mike got there only a few minutes after she did and she watched out while he climbed. Once he got to the top he looked around while she climbed. She was halfway up when Mike shook the vine, a sign that someone was coming. She started climbing faster and just vaulted herself over the top of the wall when a man walked by. For one tense moment he studied the wall, but then he shrugged and walked past it. Serenade sighed and both Mike and her took turns climbing down the wall on the other side before walking into the woods.

Once they had made it past the tree line, Mike brought a lantern out from under his cloak and let its light shine along the dark forest. Serenade noticed two sheaths on his belt and figured that they must be his short sword and knife. She decided that was good, it was better for him to be armed like she was. She also had a short sword, but she did not have time to carry a knife and so she was glad he had brought one. It was not a good idea to walk about in Darkovia, and that went double if you were without weapons.

She was confident that she could hold her own against another person with a sword, and she had at least practiced with every other kind of weapon she could think of with Jacob, but it was good to have another person around with a weapon. Mike might also be better with her with a short sword anyway. They walked for about ten more minutes before Serenade began to get worried.

"Why is this so far away from the city? If something happens, we won't be able to get back in time."

"Don't worry, it's not far from here, and besides, there's a lot of us there."

"Okay, if you say so."

They walked for a bit more before he stopped next to a tree and was about to turn to the right when he looked at her.

"Now, before I let you in, you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone about what we have here okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you know me."

He just stared at her.

"Okay whatever, I promise."

Mike smiled and looked back at the tree for a moment before swiftly turning around and lunging at her. For a moment she saw his knife in his hand but then he hit her with all of the force he could muster. The wind was knocked out of her as she hit the ground with him on top of her. She was about to struggle when she felt his knife at her throat. She looked into Mike's eyes and he smiled at the horror she must have been exuding.

"Don't struggle Sera, I'm just going to kill you here, that's all. I've wanted to for so long, but I had to make you think we were friends and make you think I was infatuated with you."

While he was talking she was desperately trying to think of what to. She had to keep him talking. She tried to say something through his hand.

"What's that? You don't want to die? Well I don't care if that's what you said or not, you're definitely going to die tonight my swee-"

She rammed her right knee into his groin and his words cut off as he yelped in pain. She then brought her other knee up and lodged it under his stomach just like Jacob had taught her. With that as leverage, she pushed off with all of her strength and twisted her entire body to the right, throwing him off of her. He hit the ground and she started running towards the town screaming at the top of her lungs. Mike cursed and was up in an instance. He saw her hair flash behind on of the trees as she ran away with the lantern in her hand, so he leapt to his feet and charged after her.

Serenade did not like having to take the lantern with her, since it gave away where she was to Mike, but she had no other choice, she could not find her way back in the night. She had quit screaming since she needed to conserve her breath for running, but she hoped that the people on watch at Amityvale had heard her and might be able to come in time. She had to push those thoughts out of her mind and think solely about how to escape what was happening to her.

She thought back to all of the races they had done as children and wondered whether Mike was a fast runner, but that was no good because Mike had been fat when they were young. She was the most athletic girl out of her circle of friends but there were a few boys who could outrun her. She just had to hope that Mike was not one of them.

She had been running for about four minutes when she saw the edge of the forest and her heart leapt with joy. She would be able to make it. She would get back to town and tell everyone what happened. She felt a burst of happiness, which made her run all the faster, but this only lasted until Mike crashed into her from the side, sending the lantern flying and her sprawling to the ground. She started struggling and was about to cry out when he quickly hopped over her knees and landed on her chest. He shoved his hand over her mouth and once again placed his knife at her throat. She tried to struggle a bit more, until he cut a small line across her neck. The pain stilled her. Mike smiled and bent his head next to her ear.

"You know what's the best part?" He whispered, "I can just leave you here and they'll think that a vampire killed you. I'll get off free. But there's no need for you to worry about that, my sweet, you'll be dead soon enough."

She tried to buck her hips and throw him off, but he was prepared and just adjusted his feet to take it in stride before slamming back down on her stomach.

"That wasn't very nice, what you did back there, I suppose I'll just have to pay you back somehow." He lifted his knife from her neck and sliced it across her cheek. Her scream was muffled but her tears ran as freely as the blood that flowed over her skin and filled her mouth. With the edge of his knife, Mike lifted the edge of the cut and whistled softly.

"Wow, it goes all the way to the other side of your mouth, let's see you be pretty now whore," he replaced the knife at her neck, "oh well, it was fun slut, but now you'll have to…"

His words trailed off, and his eyes became vacant. He looked down at his chest and noticed two points of metal protruding from right where his heart was. He looked back at Serenade.

"I'm, I'm sorry Sera," he gasped out before slumping to the right.

She kicked him away and looked at the man who still held the spear that had pierced Mike's heart. With a shock she noticed that he was the customer from earlier. He had taken off his cloak and hat and now wore some kind of a black, leather costume. He looked at her and his eyes glowed red.

"Vampire." The word escaped her mouth before she could keep it in.

"Yes," he put his foot on Mike's back and pulled out his spear. "One less scum on this earth. Still, no point in wasting the blood." He lifted Mike up, pushed his head to the side, and dug his teeth into the veins inside his neck. Serenade watched, fascinated, as all of Mike's veins bulged before slowly deflating again as the vampire dropped him to the ground with every drop of his life sucked out of him.

"Hmm, virgin blood, I did not expect that." As the vampire turned to walk away Serenade finally found her voice.

"Wait, you did this for me?"

"You could say that, if you wanted to, or you could just say I was hungry and that I killed him and, once I was satisfied, I left."

"But, why did you stay so near our town? I thought you had urgent business."

"I do, but I can tell evil intentions when I see them, and when we passed as I headed out of your store, I knew he would try something like this."

"But, why didn't you help me earlier?"

"Because no one should be coddled and protected to the point where they cannot protect themselves. I waited until it was obvious you were not going to protect yourself."

"I tried to." She had no idea why she was arguing with someone who could decide at any point that he was still hungry and finish her off, but she was not going to leave the conversation at that.

"Maybe to a certain degree, but you were not fighting for your life, as you should have been. Your short sword is still in your sheath, is it not?"

She glanced down at her sword with astonishment, with all of the excitement, she had forgotten about it. Then she looked down in shame, before looking back up at the vampire. He was staring back down at her while cleaning his blade.

"Um, thank you for saving me."

"It was not a problem, you can tell them that he was killed by a vampire if you do not want to sully his name, or you could just tell them everything."

She had not anticipated this kind of a feeling from a vampire; it was almost like compassion. She stood up and moved closer to him.

"What's it like being a vampire?"

"Cold." He finished cleaning his spear and placed it behind his back, where it seemed to disappear.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you become a vampire?"

"I had no choice, the vampire who bit me decided that I should be one."

She was still walking towards him and was very close to him now. "And how did that feel?" She moved right up to him and tilted her head to the side.

He leaned closer to her, whispering. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." She gasped out, almost unable to breathe.

"It feels like having your life, innocence, purity, and soul ripped out of you." He pushed her away from him and in a moment he was gone. Serenade looked after him for a moment before she felt the blood from her cheek flowing down onto her shoulder. She composed herself, and then ran screaming towards the town. When the watch finally found her she told them that a vampire had attacked Mike and her and that Mike had told her to run while he battled the vampire.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next day, Serenade was packing her belongings into a bag when her mother entered her room. She stood in the doorway for a moment before quietly speaking.

"Sera?"

Serenade did not stop packing. "Yes mother?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes mother."

"But, going off to join the paladins…Why would you do something like that? Don't you like your life here." Serenade could tell that her mother was starting to cry again by the way her voice was faltering.

"Yes mother, you and Dad have made my life here as good as I ever could have hoped, but this is something I must do. I cannot allow myself to be a victim for my entire life."

"But, that's why we have the village guards."

Now Serenade stopped packing and turned around to look her mother in her eyes. "Mother, that isn't the point. The point is that there are too many people in this world who let themselves be victims for their entire lives. They live each day in fear of what might happen to them, while at the same time they do nothing except place the responsibility of protecting them on someone else's shoulders. They resist what happens to them up to a certain degree, but once their subconscious limit is passed, they simply crumple to the ground and resign themselves to whatever fate will be bestowed upon them. Sometimes the guards are there to save them, but sometimes they aren't. I cannot accept life as a victim anymore."

Her mother was crying openly now. Her tears stained her cheeks and her entire body moved every time she stifled her urge to sob. With a visible effort, she wiped the tears from her eyes and straightened to her full height. Her voice cracked a bit as she spoke, but she used her authoritative voice. The voice Serenade knew no way to disobey.

"Fine, I can see why you would choose this. I give you my permission and blessing on your journey, and I hope that you become a great paladin, but you must promise me that you will come back to visit us in two months. Okay?"

Serenade smiled and hugged her mother one final time. "Okay mom, I promise. I'll come back after I've been there for two months."

Her mother smiled and cried for a few more minutes, until Serenade gently unattached herself from her and finished packing her belongings. She went outside after saying goodbye to her father, who had already said that he was in favor of her getting out of this forest. Outside was a group of merchants who had been scheduled to leave the town in a week, but had decided to leave today because of the attack. They had come from the other towns on their annual trek through Darkovia, and now that they had come to the last town, they were heading back. Serenade had used some of the money she had saved up by working at The Emporium to pay for passage with them and food. They would take her all the way to the city that was the home of the paladins. She threw her pack onto one of the wagons and walked out of the village with it.

"Never again will I need someone to save me. I will never be the victim again," she swore silently to herself as she said goodbye to the town that had been her home all of her life.


	3. Branching Roads

3

Branching Roads

Vincent knew that he must be in a dream. The whole landscape in front of him was swaying and shifting as if it was made of wax and the sun was its candle. The colors in front of him constantly changed from brightly vivid to morosely vague in moments, and he struggled to even walk amidst the madness. Strangely enough, even though the ground around him looked like it was a river, wherever he stepped it felt solid. When he placed his foot down, the ground behind him flowed around it as if it were a rock on the beach. He saw trees slowly drifting along a road even as their leafs melted and joined together with their branches. He saw clouds falling from the sky like water running down a wall. A fox ran by him and jumped high into the air before landing as a sheep and getting devoured by a rabbit, which was devoured by a fish, which was devoured by a fly. Everywhere he turned he only saw insanity.

"This is a dream. This is a dream? This must be a dream. Is this a dream? Please be a dream!"

The words came out of his mouth as tangible letters, flowed around his head, and soared off into the atmosphere to become phonetically sound constellations. His breath became two swords that battled each other for what seemed like hours before they finally pierced each other at the same moment and bled to death while, cursing their respective mothers. It may have been at this point in the lack of time that he was forced to reconsider his knowledge as to whether he was in a dream or not. Everything that was happening could not have been happening, but it also gave no sign of stopping.

"Please! Please! Please let me out!"

Something hit him in the head and he looked up to see the entire ceiling of the world cracking as it rained down its pieces of atmosphere. Soon the cracks that had once been only at the apex of the earth were heading their ways down to the horizons, and then they wound their ways over the molten hills until Vincent realized that they were headed towards him. He turned around to see that all of the myriad cracks were steadily converging on the spot where he was beached.

He could not understand why all of this was happening, but the thought of those cracks reaching him terrified him. He spun to see if there was any place in the psychotic world he was in that had no cracks. He found none so he decided to try his luck; once the cracks were close enough to him he ran towards them and leapt as far and as high as he could. He floated in the ether for several minutes, but eventually he felt the closest thing to gravity that world had bring him back down.

He landed on the cracks and, with a cry of agony, he crashed through the once-liquid ground into the blackness under it. Once he passed through the earth normal gravity reinstated itself upon him and he fell swiftly for a few more moments before slamming into the inside of the other side of the earth. Since he had fallen for uncounted miles, his body, upon landing, immediately splattered into uncounted pieces. The last thing he saw was his brain being splintered into a thousand parts, and his last thought was that he was glad he could not feel any more pain.

It was at that moment that Vincent awoke.

The first thing Vincent noticed was that he was cold. He opened his eyes, and soon deduced that this was because he was almost completely naked. His clothes were ripped and he could feel caked blood on almost all areas of his body. The next thing he noticed was pain. The pain was all over his body even though it seemed to have no origin. He ignored the pain for a moment because he was simply glad to see a world that was not constantly shifting. After struggling his way to his feet and pushing himself off of the tree he had been leaning against, Vincent took stock of his surroundings. He was still in Darkovia Forest, but he did not quite know where he was inside said forest. Some dead bodies littered the ground around him, and they held his interest for a moment.

"I wonder if I killed them. Well, it doesn't matter, I probably did."

When he checked the bodies he found that none of them were familiar but that all of them were quite dead and that they had been killed in many fantastic ways. He hoped that he had killed them. Still, even with the elation he received from picturing their deaths, he felt like something was wrong with him. He could not figure out what it was until he closed his hands and noticed an absence in them.

"Ah, of course, where are my weapons?"

He searched for those until he lost interest again. None of the bodies had his weapons. He then set about examining where he was and, as he studied the trees around him, he suddenly became aware of a strange phenomenon. He had thought that it was day, because it had just felt that way to him, but as he looked up the trunk of one tree he saw the moon floating its way through the very solid sky. He was perplexed by his lack of blindness at this hour until he snapped his fingers.

"Of course, I'm a vampire. Why didn't I remember that before…Come to think of it, I don't seem to remember much at all…Well, that isn't good."

Vincent sat back down on the ground and thought about what had happened to his memories, but even as he came to the conclusion that he had lost them, he heard voices from around the bend in the road. He did not need memories to know that those were probably not other vampires and that he had to hide. He sprang out of the road from his seated position and hid in a very leafy branch. His perfect equilibrium would have been surprising to him if had he not just figured out the reason for it.

As it turned out, his hearing was much better as well. He had heard the people and, since they sounded so close, had thought that they were right behind the bend, but in reality they were much farther than that. The volume of their voices seemed to stay at the same level as they got closer, as if his ears were working to keep the sound at the same level, and he could even hear them speak when they were several hundred feet away. Their conversation was interesting to him and he leaned closer for a moment before realizing that there was no need for it.

"Did you hear about that girl that's with us?" One man said quietly to another.

"You mean the one who survived that vampire attack?" The other responded.

"Yea, that one exactly. Word is, she's going with us out of this forest to go join the paladins."

"Really?"

"Yea, someone said that she loved the boy who was killed and that she's going to become a paladin before coming back and killing the vampire that committed the crime."

"Humph, why not just join the vampire slayers?"

"Probably 'cuz she doesn't want to be anywhere near this forest while she trains. The vampire slayer's castle is just outside of the forest itself, while the Paladins are almost fifty miles away."

"Hmm, true. Wouldn't want to be near such memories myself if'n I was her neither."

"Still, you think that the vampire slayers will send someone after the vampire?"

"Dunno', I heard that the two vampire slayers who were living in the village went after him themselves, but they're new guys, they might not make it."

The first man was about to reply when he saw the dead men on the road. He yelled out for the others and ran out to the men to see if they were alive. By the time the others had arrived he had found them all to be dead. They all checked the bodies again and soon chatter was raised all around them. Amidst the chaos a girl walked out among them. She looked around before she spoke with a commanding voice.

"There was a girl here too, she's probably somewhere in the surrounding brush. Please find her and bring her back."

The other men and women looked incredulous, but they obediently began to scour the woods. Vincent cursed silently when one searched all around his tree, but before he was forced to kill the man, a shout came from the opposite side of the road. Everyone ran towards the shout, and soon two women returned carrying a girl in their arms. Many gasps filled the air as they saw her.

"Why, she's full of holes she is."

"Yea, that she is. Looks like the work of bats."

"Krystal." The girl who had told the others to search for the girl whispered.

Vincent looked at the dead girl with interest and curiosity. What was it about her that made him sad? He was sure that she should mean something to him, but nothing was there. His mind raced as he tried to recall some kind of a memory that would allow him to place her significance to him. While he was trying this, the girl closed Krystal's eyes, stood up, turned around, and addressed the men next to the other corpses.

"Bring those here."

For some reason they obeyed and, after they had plopped them all down in front of her, she knelt next to each one before shaking her head and moving to the next one. Once all of them had been examined she turned on the men once more.

"Search the rest of this area, there was another one. A man whose name was John."

'John,' that one word sent tremors all over Vincent's body, and it took all of his newly-acquired abilities to not fall off the branch he was so precariously perched upon. 'John, John, John, John, John, John.' That name, _the _name, it was a name, a very important name. His psyche raced through his mind until it came to a door it had not noticed before. The door was very tall, and it had no handles. His psyche stood there for a moment before he whispered the one word that changed his second life forever.

"John."

The door swung open, and all of his memories came flooding back to him. He saw his sister grow from being a little weed to a blossoming rose. He saw his parents killed all over again. He saw all of his old friends from the army and all of his adversaries while he was a soldier and a bandit. The memory that caught and kept his attention, though, was of his sister's dead body and of that damned vampire. Damian, he swore that he would kill that bastard and he would be damned if he wasn't going to fulfill that now.

"Okay, I wish we could bring all of these with us, but they would putrefy before we reached our destination. We will have to burn them." Serenade, Vincent remembered her now, motioned to the others. Vincent almost cried out in anger.

'They can't burn crystal, I've got to save her from this, she must be saved!'

Vincent leaned forward on his branch, spread his arms, and was about to rush onto the road to kill them all when a priest walked past Serenade and studied the bodies. The priest looked them over before turning to Serenade. He smiled but his eyes squinted.

"No need for that my girl, I can just send their souls to the afterlife, and then there will be no need for their bodies to be buried. As long as their souls are at peace they have no use for their bodies."

Vincent watched in amusement as the priest said something or another in what might have been a language or what might just have been random syllables he had made up. With his new intuition, Vincent knew that nothing was happening to the bodies. Any vampire would know that their souls had left long ago. He almost laughed as all of the men and women stood in awe of the good priest. Once the priest was done the other humans picked up the bodies and unceremoniously hauled them to the side of the road, where they threw them as far as they could. As the priest walked away Vincent saw him grin and heard him chuckle to himself.

"Stupid peasants, at least this will save the time it would take to burn those wretches. I have pressing business to attend to."

Had he been anyone else, Vincent probably would have been enraged. He had long ago learned to not expect any good in this world, however, so he was only slightly amused as he watched this one man use all of those around him. He smiled as he thought about all of the priests in his past. Some had been good, and others had been bad, but all of them had been just that: priests.

'Well, once I bury Krystal, I'll be done here. Then I'll just have to find my weapons, hunt down Damian, and slaughter him like he did my entire crew, and me.' He was about to leap to another branch when he suddenly felt extremely weak. He slumped on his branch and panted. 'Of course, we vampires have to feed, don't we? Well, I suppose I could just suck that one priest's blood and call it a day…Um, night. I always did want to do in another priest.'

Vincent waited while the entire entourage reassembled before he used his new eyes to pick out the priest. He grinned. The priest would not be a problem; he was flirting with one of the women near the back. 'He dared to treat Krystal like an object. I hope that this kill will even be a good test of my abilities.'

Unfortunately, the priest had managed to position himself on the side of the road that was opposite Vincent's side. This small fact gave him pause; He could not just walk out and attack the priest, but it would still be hard to cross over the road unseen. 'Unless…' He grinned once more, and as one of the carriages passed under his branch, he leapt onto it. Before anyone even noticed him, he was off of the carriage and onto a branch on the other side. The entire action had taken only seconds.

Now he was ready. He slid down the tree and waited for the priest. As the priest passed him, still talking to the woman who must have been twenty years younger than he was, Vincent was about to reach out and snatch him into the shadows when his eyes were drawn to something that sparkled brightly on the priest's chest. Once his eyes rested upon the small crucifix, he threw himself back, clutching his eyes as if they were burning. He had never felt such intense pain in his life, and he wondered if he would ever see again. In time, though, the pain fell away and he opened his eyes to see the night again as if nothing had happened to him.

Vincent cursed. 'Well, I guess I can't get him now. But I do need to drink someone. I'm feeling weaker by the minute.' The caravan had mostly passed, but there were still a couple wagons still passing his position. He looked around desperately for some humans, but all of them were driving the wagons and would be missed quite quickly. His desperation increasing, Vincent grabbed a dog that was wandering by and snapped its neck before it could yelp. His fingers trembling, he ripped apart the flesh on the neck of the mutt and poured its blood into his mouth. He drank incredibly fast; as soon as the blood poured into his mouth it was down his throat. It tasted surprisingly good, considering the source, and he could already feel his body strengthening.

Vincent was about to go off into the woods when he remembered that his little sister's body was still lying in the forest off of the road. He returned to her and carried her body away from the others, then held her in his arms as he walked through the forest. He felt like falling to his knees every time he looked at her face, but by now he also felt so emotionally drained that he almost felt guilty for not showing more emotion. He walked until he found a clearing that seemed big enough, and set Krystal down. Quickly measuring the ground, he found that Krystal's body would fit fine there.

He began to rip at the ground with his hands. The task would have taken far longer than it did, but his fingernails had lengthened to about a half-inch past his fingers and had hardened until they seemed as hard as nails. These, working along with his new strength, made this task easy enough for him to complete in only a couple minutes. Once he was finished, he gently lifted his sister from the ground and set her inside the small hole he had dug for her. As he sat there looking at her white face, he found himself speaking to her.

"I guess you never did get that perfect man…Or maybe you did get him, but I scared him off. I did do that to quite a lot of them didn't I? I'm sorry for that. I was just trying to protect you from getting hurt, but it doesn't seem like such a big deal now. I never wanted it to end like this you know. I wanted to die before you, so that I'd never have to see this exact thing. But if I did have to bury you, I always wanted you to be wearing a black dress. This is all wrong."

He had no idea how long he spoke to her, but at one point he simply stopped, covered her grave with all of the dirt he had excavated from it previously, and walked back to the road.

"Damian, I'm coming for you." He whispered before running off towards Amityvale. "But first I need to get my weapons back, and some decent clothes"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Vincent cursed silently for a full minute, letting all of the best and worst words he could think of flow out of his mind as he lip-synced to them. Once he was done with his little tirade, he looked around again and assessed the situation. Getting his weapons and some clothes was trickier than he had though it would be. He had never been very good at stealing things, and since Krystal was always the sneaky one, he had never needed to. Now, however, he was faced with two options: he could either break through the locked door to the weapons shop, or find some other way to pick the lock.

He was sure that his weapons were in there. That Serenade girl had known about his and Krystal's deaths, and since she worked there and it was the only weapons shop in Amityvale, there was almost no chance they were not there. Now it just came down to getting them without alerting too many people to his presence.

'Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. I'll just run up there, smash my way through the door, grab my equipment, run to the tailor's store down the lane, raid that, and get out over the wall through those steps Krystal and I made. Okay, here goes.' He sprinted across the street and lowered his shoulder in preparation for the impact. But just as he was about to hit it, the door opened and Jacob, the storekeeper, stepped out.

"Crap." Vincent collided with the old man and the two of them flew back into the store. Vincent leapt to his feet as soon as they crashed into the wall and looked around the shelves until he spotted his trusty sword and shield. "Jackpot."

He lunged for them but fell to the ground when Jacob rapped his large arms around Vincent's legs. Vincent tried to shake him off but the old man was adamant in his refusal to let go.

"Help! Thief! Thief!" Jacob's loud, baritone voice echoed throughout the street and Vincent cursed once more for good effect before he finally got one leg loose and kicked Jacob in the face. He heard Jacob's nose smash and the man let out one last cry before Vincent kicked him in the temple and he went quiet. Even as he ran to get his weapons, though, Vincent could hear what sounded like the entire town waking up and heading towards his position.

"Freaking' crap!" He ran out the door, bowling over a couple people who were the first ones to get there, and ran down the street towards the clothing store. This route was quickly abandoned when he saw the large crowd of armed townsfolk that had already formed in the street. He turned to run the other way, but that side of the street was blocked too.

"How do you people get up so fast?" With no other alternative, Vincent jumped onto a nearby house and began running as fast as he could along the roofs of the houses. Even as he ran, though, he realized just what he had done. Now a different cry was being heard all along the town. They were yelling "Vampire."

"Great, well now I'm really screwed." Vincent wished he had time to get clothes and a sheath for his sword, but there might not even be enough time to get out of here alive. He could see all of the beacon fires being lit around the town's walls and knew that the guards were at every conceivable spot. He held his sword in one hand and his shield in the other as he leapt to the house that was closest to the wall. Unfortunately for him, when the town was created it had taken into account vampire's jumping abilities. The walls were at least thirty feet from the house and ten feet taller.

"Mother of all that is good and holy in this world." He leapt to the house closest to his. "I need to get to that spot." Again, though, the guards had spotted him from the wall, and they were sounding the alarm for all of the others.

"He's heading South!"

Even with the forewarning, however, none of the guards could compensate for Vincent's speed. He caught the guards next to the vine with the footholds behind it completely by surprise. There were two of them, and he leapt down on them after jumping as high as he could. The first one looked up right as Vincent's shield smashed into his face and his neck broke, but the second one ripped his horn from his belt and let out a loud peal before Vincent cut off his hand and plunged his sword into his chest.

"Sorry Frank, Ed." Vincent scrambled up the handholds and in an instant he was gone over the top. He was about to start running from the town when an extremely bright light shone down upon him from on the wall. It did not burn him, like he had though it would, but it did let the guards who were undoubtedly there already know exactly where he was.

"Yea, that would be Gristva, our freakin' old hag mage." As if she had heard him and took offense to that last remark, a large fireball flew down from the wall. He ran as hard as he could and lunged to the ground behind the dead carcass of a tree, which soon caught on fire.

"Hey Gristva, don't throw fireballs, you might burn down the entire forest!" Vincent heard someone call from the walls.

"Shut yer' trap youngin'. That vamp's gonna' pay for what he's done!"

"Holy crap, she's scary." Vincent leapt to his feet and sprinted towards the forest line. 'Once I make it there, I'll be fine.' His elation at being so close to freedom was short lived. It lasted until he felt amazing pain flow into his side and heard several sharp whistles pass by him. He looked down at his side, while still running, to see an arrow protruding from it. "I'm so coming back to kill you Gristva." He swore to himself as he passed behind the trees, while the light still tried to find him and arrows imbedded themselves into the ground inches away from him.

Once he figured he had run a good mile or so, he stopped and broke the arrow in his side before pulling it out of him. He could not tell why, but as the arrow left his body, he felt like his energy returned to him.

"Oh, that's right, we vampires don't like wood…Do we?" He still staggered though, and he was glad that he had decided to wait through one night and one day before entering the town. He now knew that he just had to avoid direct contact with the sun and he would be fine.

"Well, I suppose that beats having to carry around a coffin." He chuckled for a moment at his bad joke. He would have found a tree to sleep in, but just then he heard the shouts of the villagers as they pursued him. "Aww, Come on!" He would have to postpone his attempts to chase Damian until he shook these people off of him. Running off into the distant forest, he looked at himself. He was barely clothed, bleeding form the side, and had to carry his sword and shield in his hands as he ran, but at least he was alive. Well, he was kind of alive.

Vincent was still running several hours later, and despite his newly gained endurance, he was starting to feel fatigued. 'I can't stop running, I need to get such a lead on them that they won't be able to reach me even if they run all day.' Finally though, about an hour before sunrise, he simply could not run any longer. He slowed to a walk, found a tree that had been hollowed out, and slipped inside. In moments he was fast asleep, but even as he fell into another of those strange dreams that he had decided were just what vampires had, the dream ended in an instant. Inside his dream Vincent looked around fearfully. The entire world was black as pitch, and he could not see anything.

"What's going on?"

Oddly enough, a voice answered him, "Vincent."

"Yes?" He figured talking to whoever this could be was still better than those crack dreams.

"That is your name?"

"Yep." He still could not figure out why he knew that this was his name. It just was.

"Are you a vampire?" This voice seemed to like asking rhetorical questions.

"Yes, I am." Vincent was getting a little annoyed.

"Who turned you into a vampire?"

Ah, now it was getting to real questions. "A vampire named Damian. He said that he was class two."

"Hmm, since you are now one of us, you will come to our city. We will decide then whether you are worthy of being a vampire or not."

"Wonderful, how will I know how to get there?"

"You will know. Now, awake."

Vincent woke with a jump that put a dent in the tree he was inside, and made him see stars. He climbed out of the small hole in the tree, and was surprised that he did not feel sore after sleeping in such a cramped place for a good twelve hours. Apparently, he had done a good enough job of eluding the villagers, because he could not hear them.

'They must have given up once it became dark. Heh, suckers. Now, to find Damian.' But even as that thought entered his mind he realized how futile it was. The only way he would be able to find Damian now would be to go all the way back to the town and try to pick up his trail there, which was what he had intended to do before the whole fiasco that had happened. Now, however, the whole town would be on alert, and he could not risk another encounter with those psycho people.

"Well, I guess there's nothing to do except to go to the vampire city or whatever, and wait for him there," he paused for a moment, looking around him. "Ah, of course, it's this way." He bounded into the forest once again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Damian paused next to the tracks that littered the road and smiled. His quarry obviously thought that no one used the old roads anymore, and was being very carefree about just where his lackeys and he were going. Still, they had the advantage of being able to move at morning, so it would take him almost four weeks before he reached them. He stood up and began running along the road as fast as he could.

"Wulf, I am coming for you." He whispered quietly to the night air.


	4. Escalation

4

Escalation

A crowd was gathering. They formed a large ring around two figures as they strafed back and forth, and moved almost constantly in their attempts to subdue each other. One held a sword firmly grasped in one hand and a shield in the other, while the other held a spear with both hands. Both of them were panting now, but neither of them was cut because they both wore thick armor for just such an occasion. At that moment, they had just finished a quick melee, and were now pacing off. They were wary of one another, and none too eager to try their luck again.

Finally, the one with the spear spun it until the blade faced forward and charged forward with both hands on its shaft. The second one stood in his place until it seemed that the spear would hit him, but at the last second he ducked and shoved his shield up, blocking the spear upwards, and stabbed his sword into the chin of the other's helmet. The spear wielder fell back as her helmet fell off, and before she could recover, the swordsman was right next to her. She stuck out with her fist, but he blocked this with his shield and hooked his foot behind her heel. She fell to the ground with a grunt.

"Ready to give up yet Sera?" The second fighter took off his helmet and placed his sword at her neck.

Serenade rolled her eyes and grabbed the sword. "Of course not Bruce. Death before surrender, you know that."

Bruce smiled. "Whatever child," he stepped back and used her grip on his sword to pull her to her feet. "You kids just haven't lived long enough to truly appreciate life. If an opponent offers you a chance to escape an untenable situation, you should immediately accept. Better a defeated paladin than a dead one."

Serenade let go of the sword and went to retrieve her helmet. "Yea, you say that now Bruce, but everyone talks about how you wouldn't give up that town during the undead invasion way back, even though they gave you the chance to."

Bruce set his weapons down. "That was different, other lives were at stake, not just my own. Although, you may have a point; I suppose that you'll just have to decide for yourself when the time comes. Only, be forewarned, next time you might not be fighting with wooden swords against an old man who doesn't want to hurt you."

She held her helmet in one hand and retrieved her piece of wood that functioned as a spear. "Uh-huh, now what I need you to do is tell me how to avoid getting beaten by the move you just used."

He stroked his gray beard as he thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose extending the spear farther away from your body would help, you shouldn't keep it so close to your body. But what you should really do is not use a spear for close combat. I know we've told you this many times since you got here. Spears just aren't meant for serious close fighting. They are meant for throwing and defensive lines. I've seen you fight with a sword, and you're much better with that. Why are you so determined to use a spear?"

For a moment, Serenade looked off towards the west. She did that when she was thinking, Bruce noticed. Then she turned back to him, put her helmet back on, and held her spear. "So, extend it farther away from my body?"

"Yep, keeping it close to you when you strike allows the enemy a chance to counter, but attacking father away from yourself keeps them farther away from you."

"Okay, want to go again?"

He laughed and stood up. "No thank you child, the crowd's gone away anyway. You've grown far stronger than you were when you were accepted into our academy three weeks ago, and I'm old. If you really want to get stronger that much, go and work on your archery while reciting the incantations of magic or something, okay?"

She took off her helmet and began to remove the rest of her armor. "Yes master, I look forward to our next match."

"As do I."

Serenade walked off, and Bruce was going to return to his rooms so that he could bathe and prepare for dinner, but before he could make it off the courtyard, he was stopped by a voice.

"So, I take it that Serenade is still growing at an astounding rate then?"

Bruce turned around to see the commander of the paladins leaning against a stone pillar. "Yes sir, in only three weeks, she has grown exceedingly in almost all areas of our arts. Her magical arts and swordsmanship are especially good, but I usually attribute that to her previous training at her hometown and to her tireless training here. She seems to never stop working. It's really quite amazing."

"She's especially good with a sword you say?" The commander pushed himself off of the pillar and motioned for Bruce to walk with him. "But why is she using a spear? Is it to push herself with an unfamiliar weapon?"

"In truth, I know not. She trains the most with a spear, and the only reason I've seen her prowess with a sword is that I tested her with all of the weapons. Whenever I question her about such a strange choice of weapon, she always changes the subject of conversation. She truly is a strange girl."

"And what do you think about her promise to her mother about returning to her hometown after she has been here for two months?"

"Humph, I personally think that it's dangerous. You heard for yourself the circumstances that caused her to come here in the first place. If she were to return too soon after such a traumatic incident and after so little training, then I think that no good could come from it."

The commander was silent for awhile, and Bruce even thought that he might have finished the conversation, but right as Bruce's quarters came into view, he spoke. "Yes, I agree with you, but we cannot go back on our word now. Regardless, I would like you to focus most of your attention on her training for now. We may not have her for very long, so we need to prepare her for what she may face to the best of our ability."

Bruce placed his hand on the handle to his door. "Understood sir. I suppose I now have the excuse I've needed for favoring her."

The commander chuckled and walked away as Bruce entered his room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Serenade pulled back the string of one of the standard bows that were just lying around the archery range. She whispered the words to a spell and the tip of the arrow that was lodged in the bow froze over. She looked at the target out among all of the others and released her hold on the taught bowstring. The arrow flew through the air and embedded itself inside the black ring, only a quarter of an inch away from the red dot in the middle.

She sighed and pulled another arrow out of the quiver that rested against the fence right next to her. She scanned her mind for spells she hadn't used, and just as she though she had used them all, she remembered one last one. She whispered the syllables and let the string go right as she finished. She was surprised when, instead of heating up the arrowhead, the spell made the entire arrow burst into flames. When it struck the target, the flame quickly spread onto that, until the entire target was burned down.

"Oops." Serenade ran over to the burning grass and began to stamp out the fire while casting small water spells over the area. Once it was all over she sat down before falling back, lying on the ground, and looking up at the sky. She began to reminisce about her childhood, but as it always did these days, her train of thoughts eventually and swiftly led to her struggle with Mike and to the face of that vampire. She thought about that vampire, that strange being from her nightmares who had saved her and, in only a few words, had taught her to defend herself. She had no idea what she would do with these abilities she had recently gained, but she knew that she could no longer live life as she always had. She wondered why he had saved her. She wondered why he had not killed her as well. More than anything else, though, she wondered what his name was, and she derided herself for never asking what it was.

"Why?" She whispered to the dusk sky. As usual, though, the sky had no answer, so she stood up, brushed herself up, and walked back to the Paladin's castle. It was almost time for dinner anyway. She would save these thoughts for later, as always.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Vincent stopped running and leaned against a tree, it was about midnight, and he had been running ever since he had awoken about seven hours ago. He had been travelling almost non-stop for about three weeks now, and every time he slept he had those crazy dreams instead of talking with that person. He had drank several animals while travelling, the best being a deer that he had devoured the other day, which still kept him going until now. Although he sensed that he would have to feed again sometime soon. He marveled at how he grew almost imperceptibly stronger each time he fed.

'So that's how he was so strong.' He smiled to himself as he thought of ripping Damian's throat open and feeding off of him. That would have to wait, however, until he had gotten to this Vampire Castle. Every day it felt like he was getting closer to the castle, but he never seemed to reach it. It was getting rather frustrating.

"Oh well, nothing to do besides keep going I suppose." He pushed himself off of the tree and kept sprinting along the forest trail. He had not run for very long before he felt the castle getting noticeably closer. This filled him with excitement and he renewed his running.

"Hey, maybe I'll actually make it to this place before sunrise." Unfortunately, he was so intent on the prize that grew closer with every step that he did not notice the figures that hid behind two trees across his path until he passed them by. Of course, by that time it was too late. One of them grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed him to the ground. He groaned in pain. Pain that was only intensified when the same person dragged Vincent's face along the ground for a bit before lifting him up and ramming him into a tree. Vincent struggled for a bit, but then two more hands held his arms while the original assailant smashed his face into the tree. Vincent ceased his struggles, as blood ran down the inside his throat, and the first one chuckled a bit.

"Smart boy, now it's question answer time," his mouth was right next to Vincent's ear. "Who are you?"

"Vincent."

"Okay 'Vincent,' what are you?"

Vincent tried to turn his head around, but this only make the questioner grasp it harder. "I'm a vampire."

"Heh, are you implying that a vampire would be stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trap?"

"I'm new at this."

This incited another chuckle from the unknown person, so Vincent assumed that he was a vampire. "Okay then, who was it that turned you hmm?"

"I've seriously already had this conversation in my dream." Vincent barely got the remark out of his mouth before his head was pulled back from the tree and slammed back into it.

"You've got a big mouth for such a situation. You just don't seem to be getting what's going on here. That was definitely not an answer. Now, one more word out of you that isn't a direct answer to my question and I'll let the insects feast on your brain. Got that?"

Vincent was getting it. "Yea, I got that."

"Okay then, so who was it that turned you?"

"He said that his name was Damian, and that he was a second class vampire."

There was a small sigh from next to his ear. "Figures, well, whatever, you're a vampire now. I guess there's nothing left but to see if you're good enough. If you are then we'll let you live, and also join us. If you aren't, then you'll die. We can't have weak ones polluting our name now can we?"

"Yea, the thing in the dream told me about that too." Vincent winced in anticipation as the hand drew his head back, but then he was released and turned around. He was face to face with the second vampire he had ever seen. The Vampire's red eyes only accentuated his angular face and high cheekbones. He had black hair and a sneer on his face. Another vampire was behind him. That one had silver hair and looked solemn. The sneering one looked Vincent over.

"You look terrible, what happened to you?"

"I died." Vincent felt his wounds as the vampire released him from his grip.

"Hah, well I suppose that will do it sometimes, now won't it. Hey, Brutus, let's escort this guy to the patriarch and get him officially inducted, or killed."

"Right."

As they walked along an almost imperceptible trail, Vincent wanted to ask the two of them many things, but whenever he tried to start a conversation the first vampire would look behind him and give Vincent a look that could turn milk. So Vincent contented himself with just absorbing the scenery. The trees in this part of the forest were extremely dense, so much so that he could only see little shards of moonlight shining down through their eaves every fifty feet or so. The trees themselves were also quite large. They looked to be about fifty to seventy-five feet tall and were about six to eight feet in diameter. They also had very few branches until about three/fourths of the way up them.

'That makes sense, I guess they don't want any unfortunate accidents with those branches… I wonder if they chose this location because of these trees, or if they sculpted the trees around their location to look like this…' He felt that this might be worth finding out, so he posed the question to the two vampires. The one in front of him turned around and eyed him, but then he resumed walking.

"Honestly, it doesn't really matter much. People think that we can't move around in the day, but as long as we keep all of our skin away from the sun we're fine. And as to the branches, that was also a coincidence, although we like ones with high branches so that nothing can ambush us."

Vincent was relieved to have finally pierced through the others' silence, so he figured he'd try his luck once again. "So, what class are you guys?"

This time the one behind him, Brutus, spoke first. "I'm a fourth class, and Adrian is a third class."

"Oh, so how can you tell what your class is?" Vincent couldn't tell which of them to direct the question to, so he just faced forward. Brutus answered again.

"As you have probably noticed, you get stronger every time you drink another's blood, but it is also true that the more powerful someone is, the more strength you gain from them when you drink of that person's blood. 'Classes' are terms we use to measure how much strength someone has gained. You'll find that there are definite varying levels of strength among the vampires, and so our leaders found out that there are about five levels of strength. They divided our warriors into five classes based on their strength."

"Oh," Vincent pondered this for a bit. "So, is it better to have a higher class?"

Adrian surprised him by answering. "No, the lower the level, the stronger the warrior. First classes are our elite warriors."

They continued on for a few more minutes in silence, but eventually Vincent broke it again. "So, I suppose that means that I am a fifth class?"

"No, not yet, you are nothing right now. If you pass the test, then you will be allowed to take on the mantle of fifth class."

"Any chance of getting into a higher level from the start?"

Adrian chuckled. "Nope, basically, all of us started out as fifth classes, the only way to go up a class is to devour the heart of stronger and stronger beings until you reach the required amount of power to be considered a higher class."

Vincent frowned. "So, what if I were to eat the heart of a first class vampire?"

Adrian turned around so abruptly that Vincent almost ran into him. He fixed Vincent with a stone cold stare and spoke very slowly. "First of all, abandon that thought. I'm telling you right now that there is no way any vampire class lower than a first class can kill a first class, and to try would only result in a swift, brutal death. If (By some freak chance) you did, however, you would immediately gain the strength of a first class and be considered one."

"So then, how else would one of us reach first class."

Adrian turned back and started walking again. When neither of them spoke Vincent realized that he had reached the end of his questioning session, and that he would have to accept what he had gained. 'Well, at least now I know a bit more.'

They continued on for awhile before two other vampires came around from behind trees. The one on the left spoke.

"Adrian, Brutus, what have you got there?"

Adrian took a step forwards. "We have a new recruit, says that Damian turned him. We're bringing him back so that he can be tested."

"I see, well, proceed."

From there, it was only one turn in the trail before they reached a wall of trees so tightly clustered that a worm couldn't fit in between them. Vincent was wondering exactly what would happen next when Adrian walked up to one of the trees and placed his palm on it. He whispered something that Vincent could not hear, and when he took his hand away from the tree a bright blue sigil glowed where it had been. For a few more seconds nothing happened, but then the tree shuddered and bent backwards. As Adrian walked towards it, its bark shifted its form until it looked like stairs. He beckoned Vincent to follow him, so Vincent walked up the steps and down the other side into a clearing. The site that met him astounded him.

There was a huge castle, it had many tall towers that extended hundreds of feet into the air, other, smaller building that couldn't be less than a hundred feet tall, and was surrounded by a large wall. The width of the clearing must have had a diameter of two square miles, and the castle covered all of it besides about fifty feet that laid all around it between the wall and the wall of trees. There was a large gate that was right in front of them, and Adrian led them towards it. When they got there a smaller door opened in it and a vampire beckoned them inside.

When they entered, Vincent was once again astounded. At first it was by the sky above him. Outside he had approximated it as being about three hours until sunrise, but inside this place, it seemed as if it were midnight. The moon shone brightly in the wrong position, and the all of the stars twinkled in obviously fashioned constellations. Adrian noticed Vincent's awe and chuckled again.

"Yep, got me on my first time too."

After this, Vincent noticed that he was on a bridge that extended another fifty feet from the wall before the town that was inside the vampire castle really started. Under the bridge, and extending fifty feet from the wall to the town, was a large body of water that ran all around it as far as Vincent could see. The town itself looked normal enough from where he stood. There were small houses and bigger houses, with another castle that was larger than all of the other buildings grabbing his attention immediately. There were vampires walking around, just as in a normal town, except that there were very few of them, from his perspective.

He had only a few seconds to take all of this in, however, for soon Adrian was beckoning for him to follow him, and Brutus was urging him forward. The three of them walked through the narrow, cobbled streets and passed gothic courtyards, arches, and what looked like cathedrals. Adrian led them though the streets until they reached another gate at the side of another wall that surrounded the castle inside the town. They were challenged again, and Adrian gave an identical answer as the previous time. Once again the gate was opened, but this time only Adrian and he passed through. Brutus said his farewells and headed off down the street.

The inside of this second castle was lavish, but this was unsurprising to Vincent. He had grown up listening to tales of vampires and their styles, and he found it slightly ironic just how true those stories had been. There were statues of individuals, epic tapestries depicting various events and wars, and many candlesticks with bright, flickering candles inside them. There were also many carpets, most of which were red. As usual, Adrian led him through these winding halls until they reached a large door with two rock beings on each side of it that resembled large, humanoid bats. It was strangely unguarded. This time, Adrian stepped to the side of the door.

"You enter first."

"Oh, is this where the leaders are?" Vincent suddenly felt very leery of entering this room.

"Yep, it's in here where you'll either get inducted or…Well, you know."

"Right," despite himself, Vincent gulped. He walked up to the two doors and grasped each of them by the handle.

"Actually, I think you should probably just open one. Wouldn't want to seem too pretentious now would you?" Vincent could not tell just how serious Adrian was being.

"Oh, right."

He grabbed one of the doors and slowly opened it while walking into the brightly-lit room behind it.


	5. Evil Is a Matter of Perspective

5

Evil Is a Matter of Perspective

Damian, vampire second class, walked along a forest road and thought.

'This is not good, I have already killed far more humans on this mission than is usually acceptable, and that business with the young man was one step too far. Why did I do that anyway? Regardless, if I attract any more attention, they will send vampire slayers after me. If they have not already.'

Just the thought of this sent something like a shiver down Damian's spine. The vampire slayers were notorious in their ability to destroy lone vampires. Any vampire that was sane would be afraid of two vampire slayers. Now, there was no doubt that Damian could kill a vampire slayer, maybe even two, but even if he did succeed in that, they would only send more. That was the terror that the vampire slayers held. They were relentless; they would never forget a wound to them, or to the peasants that were in their region. They were the main reason that the attacks against towns had almost ceased, because every vampire that had tried was killed. There were no exceptions to that statement.

'Besides, even if I were able to kill the slayers they sent after me, they might just send E. Now that is something I have to avoid at all costs. Being hunted by E would mean certain death, no matter how strong I think I am. I must do everything I can to avoid drawing their attention after this point. I am too close to becoming a first class to jeopardize it all now. I could become one of the elite in our society. Surpassed in power by only the Patriarch and Matriarch. I only need one more heart.'

He continued to steep in his thoughts as he followed several large, canine tracks, and smiled to himself once again. Wulf was being very cocky, which was not like him. So the only explanations were either that his minions were very strong, or that he himself was stronger than had been reported. Both of them sounded rather far-fetched, but Damian knew that he had to be ready for anything once it became time to fight them. He was very worried about the amount of tracks as well. Five was a very large number for one vampire to face down, and those other four were just added to his quarry, who might or might not be stronger than Damian himself was.

Despite himself, and his serious position, Damian could not help but enjoy this part of the forest. He was now officially far outside of the vampire territory, and as such, he saw sites that he rarely got to see. There were trees of all kinds, but most were short, jagged, and provided almost no cover from the sun. None of them were as uniform as the trees in the vampire's part of the forest.

'I suppose they really have no reason to fear wood, or the sun for that matter. Still, the birds here are very—wait, there are no birds in Darkovia!'

Damian leapt into the air and curled into a ball as a large net fell from a particularly tall tree that was directly above him. It caught him and neatly wound itself around him, with the metal balls at the ends twirling around each other to form a perfect knot at the top. By the time he hit the ground, he was already tied so securely that he could not even use the knife he had draw from his boot while he had been in the air. A boot hit the ground next to his head, and he looked up into the laughing face of a vampire slayer.

'Well, this is not good.'

The vampire slayer squatted down until his face was right above Damian's. He looked nondescript; with brown hair, brown eyes, and normal, Cro-Magnon features. He was still laughing loudly and his open mouth displayed perfectly aligned teeth and a wide grin.

"Hello vampire. I bet you thought that you had safely gotten away from what you did to that poor boy back in Amityvale. Well you didn't. We are the two vampire slayers that were stationed in that town, and we've been tracking you ever since then. We will now kill you and avenge poor…Hey Sean, what was that kid's name?"

"Huh," another vampire slayer walked into Damian's field of vision. He seemed very young, and had almost white blond hair, blue eyes, and looked scared. "His name was Mike, Jake."

"Right, that guy. You killed him and tried to kill…" John trailed off and looked to the side while scratching his head.

"Serenade." Sean offered while inching closer to Damian.

"Serenade. So now we're going to kill you." Jake pulled out a pistol and loaded it with a wooden bullet.

Damian eyed the two of them. "Jake huh?"

Jake stopped for a moment. "Yea."

"I suppose that there is nothing that I can do to save myself now is there?" Damian rolled onto his back so that he could see them better.

"Nope, that net is one of our new magic ones, ties itself it does." John let out another burst of laughter and poured powder into the pan of his pistol.

"Right, I just hope you know how to deal with those five werewolves that were very close to us and that most definitely heard your idiotic laughing."

Jake stopped laughing and looked around for a minute before turning back around to Damian and kicking him in the ribs. "Stupid vampire, don't go scaring me like that again, you hear?"

"I am afraid that I am not trying to scare you, I am merely pointing out that the werewolves' sense are even more finely tuned than my vampire ones, and that they undoubtedly heard you. They were less than a mile away from me when you ambushed me, so they should be here in about thirty seconds."

A look of panic crossed Jake's face for a moment before it became a sneer once again. "Yea, right, I'm sure they are. Too bad you won't be here to see us kill them as well."

Damian sighed. "You really are an idiot, there are five of them. I would have hoped that you could have figured that out by just following me and seeing their tracks for yourselves. Do you really think that you two, who are equipped only for vampire slaying, could defeat five werewolves?"

This time Sean spoke up. He had been moving closer to the two of them for the entirety of the conversation, and was now about as close to Damian as Jake was. "Jake, he's telling the truth. You and I both saw those tracks, and why would he give a time limit to his lie if he really were lying? Let's just wait thirty seconds and kill him if they don't show up by then?" Despite his calm voice, Damian could tell that he was shaking. In his heart, Damian sympathized with the young man. This was probably his first time out of guard duty, and now he was going to have to fight for his life.

"No, I say that we kill him now, and then wait to see if they—" He was silenced by several howls as Damian saw seven werewolves come around the bend in the road. They were running on all fours, with their weapons on their backs, and they were running fast. He had to do something quick.

"Alright, now you believe me, release me and I'll help you fight them, with the three of us we might just have a chance."

Jake was ready to argue, even now. "Why should we—"

"Release!" Sean yelled out before drawing his sword and running up next to Jake.

Jake shot Sean a cross look, but he seemed content to let it slide. He reached behind his back and unwrapped a morning star that was stuck to his belt. It was of middling size, and designed to be used with one hand. It's chain was about two feet long and the spiked ball at the end was six inches in diameter and had inch-long spikes all over it. He swung it around menacingly for a couple seconds before he paused.

The seven werewolves ran until they were twenty feet away from the three of them, and then they came to a skidding stop. In a flash, they stood on their hind feet and drew their swords. After this, they mulled around for a bit. Apparently, they were unsure as to what they should do. Damian took this opportunity to walk up between both Sean and Jake, he drew his spear and let the tip of it rest on the ground while he held the shaft in his right hand.

"I hope that killing young people who are alone in the woods isn't the only thing you can do, vampire." Jake was getting a little jumpy himself.

"I assure you that I will do everything within my power to keep the two of you alive." Damian sized up his opponents. He did not like the look of this. Somehow, there were two more than he had originally thought. 'They must have just been in the area. Just my luck.'

Eventually one of the werewolves came forward from the others. It looked at the three of them. "So, what's a high and mighty vampire and two slayers doing in werewolf territory? Would you be looking for our boss, by any chance? Well that's too bad. He's far away from here. He knew you'd come, even had us wait here for you. Now, give yourselves up, and we promise that the vampire will be the only one to die."

For a moment, it looked like the two slayers might actually take the werewolf up on that, but then Damian retorted. "Right, the promise of a werewolf is about as dependable as one from the vampires. You had better hope that you are all at least fourth class, or you will all die tonight."

The werewolf's eyes narrowed. It showed its teeth in a snarl. "You'll find that we will be more than a match for you, vampire. You're only a second class, while we have two fifth classes, three fourth classes, and two third classes. You have no chance of victory, even with those slayers by your side."

"We will see." Damian bent down and looked like he was re-lacing his boot, but then he leapt forward while flinging his boot knife at the leading werewolf. It lunged out of the way, but the fifth class behind it had no time to emulate it, and took the knife in its chest. It looked down at the wound before looking back at Damian and laughing.

"You really think that a knife could kill one of us?" Then it fell to the ground, convulsing and howling, but in another moment it was dead.

"It should, especially since all of my weapons are made of silver," He quickly leapt back until he was with Sean and Jake again. "Are your weapons made of silver as well?"

"Yes, both of ours are." Sean looked a little more reassured now that one of them was dead."

"Yea, but we're still killing you after this, got that?" Jake fixed Damian with a commanding stare.

"Fair enough."

The rest of the werewolves howled and charged. Their swords glinted in the moonlight, and their mouths opened wide with the thought of blood.

"This will be hard." Flipping his spear to his left hand, Damian grasped the net that had once bound him, and hurled it at the closest one, a class four. The net caught it and immediately bound it as securely as it had Damian. The only difference was that the werewolf's weapon was far too large and bulky for it to use to cut itself loose. It growled in frustration, but there was nothing more that it could do.

The other five charged forward as fast as they could, not wanting to see what else these three could do at long range. Damian grabbed his spear with both hands, while Sean put his left arm behind his back and faced the right side of his body towards the enemy and Jake let his morning star's spiked ball rest on the ground while he faced the opposite side of his body towards the enemy. His other hand seemed to have something in it, but Damian could not tell. Despite there being three of them, and also having two werewolves down already, Damian knew that this battle would not be easy. He could probably only count on the two slayers for about one kill each, which meant that he would have to deal with the other three himself. To this effect, he stepped forward as the three he selected ran towards him. A third class reached him first and swung out horizontally. Damian ducked under it and lamented that it had stepped forward with its right foot, if it had, he could have cut off it's leg and ended its role in this fight. As it was, he slammed the butt of his spear into its knee, since thrusting would extend him too far for him to easily recover if another attacked him.

The third class fell back, staggering as its leg bent in a direction Damian knew was not naturally possible, but no sooner was the third class out of his range then the other two he had selected, a class four and what he assumed must be the other class three, came running at him. As they did, a class four and a class five ran towards the two slayers. Damian couldn't focus on them, though, because the two werewolves that were fighting him were giving him all he could deal with. He was still dealing with them though. They both attacked overhead, and he blocked both attacks with his spear set horizontally. They both stabbed out, and he spun his spear to deflect their swords. He finished by grabbing his spear and slashing out at the werewolf on his right. It jumped back and fell to the ground, while the other slashed upwards diagonally. Damian was forced to roll back, and so the skirmish went on.

Elsewhere, Sean and Jake were having similar problems. Sean tried to parry his opponent's sword, but he forgot to account for the werewolf's strength. It easily bashed through his fencing guard, and he was forced to quickly backpedal as the werewolf continued to slash and run towards him. Eventually, the werewolf reached him and slashed at him once more. Desperately, Sean dropped to his knees and rolled under the sword strike, but he was too slow and the werewolf kicked him in the ribs, launching him back a couple feet. He lay there for a moment, trying to stand to his feet while the werewolf stalked towards him. It got to him and raised its sword above its head.

"Goodbye, foolish young slayer." It was about to stab down when a hole suddenly formed in its head. It fell to the ground and Sean looked over to see Jake fighting the fifth class while throwing away his used pistol. Since his opponent was only a fifth class, and since he was the senior of the two slayers, he did not seem to be in too much trouble.

"Careful buddy, don't let your guard down, this vampire may betray us at any moment." Jake lunged back to avoid a swing and swiftly retaliated by bringing his morning star around and swinging it with all of his strength. The werewolf also lunged backwards, but it recovered slower than Jake, who had switched his mace to his other hand and now led with the right side of his body, with his morning star in his left hand now.

"No, I don't think he will Jake, he seems diff—" at that moment both of the werewolves that were fighting Damian swung at him from different sides and at different levels. It seemed like there was nothing Damian could do, but then he suddenly bent his knees, and in an instant he was gone into the night.

"There!" Jake finished an unsuccessful swing, switched his hands, and punched the fifth class in the snout. It fell back, bleeding. "I told you that he would leave us, and now we're really screwed. As if to accentuate this point, the werewolf that Jake had shot stood back up and began stalking towards Sean again, the werewolf with the broken leg snapped it back into place, groaning in pain as its tendons immediately healed, and the one Jake had punched in the nose strode forward.

"That's right," Sean moaned, "Only silver."

The third class with the previously broken leg looked at the two that had been fighting Damian and gave them a triumphant smile. He never saw his death coming. Damian came down from his jump and landed on it, with his spear cutting a wedge into its chest. For a moment, it stayed bent over backwards, but then it slid down his spear's shaft and fell to the ground. The other two ran towards Damian, while he ripped out his spear and cut open the throat of the werewolf that was still trying to get out of the net. It slowly stopped its frantic struggles, and he readied himself for the next two.

"Three down now." He smiled.

Sean wished he could be as confident as that vampire. He was just barely avoiding each strike that the fourth class werewolf was sending at him, and that was by constantly giving ground to it. He could not figure out was so wrong. He had been trained with the use of the rapier, and had been drawn to it because it relied on finesse and speed rather than brute strength. He had been able to beat most of the others in his class, and had eventually gained confidence in himself, but now he was fighting a warrior that fought using sole brute strength, and he was losing. He just could not match blades with this werewolf, because its strength was far greater than his own was.

'Calm down,' he tried to think logically as he dodged behind a tree and the werewolf slashed past him. 'There has to be some way to beat him,' the werewolf was on him again, and again he tried to block its swinging blow. He soon reaffirmed that this would not be a possible maneuver, since his sword was batted out of the way and the werewolf lunged onto him. It bore him to the ground, and latched the tips of its front teeth into his right shoulder, but he put his feet under its stomach and launched it past him as he rolled back to his feet. 'Well, at least that worked, but now I have some holes in me, and I know that I can't match its sword. Maybe…maybe that is how I'm supposed to fight, by not matching it. Yea.' He rolled this idea through his head for the few seconds of reprieve he had, before the werewolf was back on its feet and charging him again.

'Don't connect.' He spun to the side, getting just barely cut by the werewolf's jab, and finished the spin by slicing the werewolf across its ribs. It was a superficial cut, but it gave him pleasure to finally score a hit. It barked at him and slashed out. 'Don't confront, flow around,' Sean bent over backwards, letting the sword pass over him, before stopping his fall on a tree, pushing himself back to his feet, and putting another slash into the werewolf's fur. Now the werewolf was getting annoyed. It had been stung twice, and the blood from its wounds was matting its fur, but it was no fool. It stepped back, giving it a bit of room, before trying to go back to how things were by charging forward, its sword swinging.

'Finesse over brute strength,' Sean stood in the way of the swinging sword for what seemed like too long of a time to block or dodge, before disappearing from the werewolf's view. For a moment it wondered where he was, but then it stopped caring as it felt his rapier pierce through its ribs and into its heart. It looked down to see Sean doing the splits on the ground and his sword sticking into its chest.

Sean smiled as it fell to the ground. He had won. He tried to get up, but found that he had gone beyond his flexibility with that last move. He groaned in pain and managed to barely shift his legs around until he could bend his front leg. When he finally got back up to his feet he gingerly ran back to where Jake and the vampire were fighting.

"I should definitely stretch more." He grimaced as he reached the road again. He was just in time to see the fifth class that was fighting Jake swing its sword at him. Jake laughed like he always did, and swung his morning star into the sword, but it was too close for the ball to hit it. The chain wrapped itself around the sword and held tight to it. For just a moment, the werewolf tried to continue with its slash, but the chain held it.

Before it could think of anything else to do, Jake pulled his arm straight back, pulling the morning star off of the sword, and quickly spun it behind his back, switching it to his right hand and smashing the werewolf's sword arm. Next he spun his entire body to his right and returned with one final attack that smashed off the front of the werewolf's snout, before coming around again and imbedding his weapon into the side of its head. It did not even twitch before it fell to the ground, completely dead.

Jake turned to face Sean and let out another laugh.

"See? I told you that he wouldn't run away." Sean felt along his bite marks and found about eight small holes, four on each side of his shoulder.

"Whatever, you need to be ready to kill him once he finishes those last two off, okay?" Jake had a few cuts as well, but they looked like they had been caused by a blade, and seemed minor.

Sean sighed and looked to the ground. "Yea, I guess so."

He looked up when Jake put his hand on Sean's left shoulder. He looked into his eyes. "I just want you to know that I'm proud of what you've done here today Sean, not many new recruits could beat a fourth class werewolf without silver bullets or arrows."

"Th-thanks Jake, but shouldn't we be more worried about that vampire?"

"Dagnabit', that's right. I hope he hasn't beaten those two yet." The two of then ran towards where they thought Damian was.

When they got to Damian, he was still fighting the two werewolves just as hard as he had been at the beginning. Somewhere along the way, he had lost or dropped his spear and was now fighting with his sword and his long knife. He was trying his hardest to hold both of them off, but he seemed to be a little winded. The werewolves must have sensed this as well and they attacked with renewed ferocity. For a moment it seemed like they would over come him, but then he ducked under one blow, parried the second with his sword, slashed out at one of them with him knife, and kicked out at another. Both of them had to leap back to avoid being hit, and this gave Damian a bit of a break. They both stood in their place, trying to think of some kind of a plan.

"Um, shouldn't we help him?" Sean was worried, because it looked like the vampire might lose.

"Nope, this will work well for both of us. We only agreed to let him go, not to save him. So if he dies, we'll just kill them; and if he kills them, then we'll kill him. Perfect right?"

"Yea, sure." Sean sat down on the ground and fingered his right shoulder again.

Once their plan was formulated, the two werewolves howled in unison and charged Damian again, but this time the fourth class jumped into the air while the other one just charged straight. Damian shifted to the side at the last second as the fourth class slammed its sword down into the ground. This miss left its back open, but when Damian struck at it, the other one was there to block him, allowing the fourth class to spin on the its knees to slash at Damian's legs. He leapt over it, however, and stabbed out at both of them. Fourth class rolled out of the way, while the other one simply blocked his attack again.

'Well, at least they are on the same side of me, but if I am to catch my quarry, I need to end this quickly,' Damian was already starting to feel fatigued, and after this he would still have to run from the slayers and fight Wulf. 'Wonderful.'

The fourth class charged again, and at first it looked like the other one would as well, but that one just jerked forward so that the forth class would think that it was running too. Damian though that this was strange, but chose to dwell on it later. He charged towards fourth class and launched his long knife at it. His aim was true, and the blade would have pierced the fourth class's heart, but at the last moment, fourth class threw out its arms and took the blade in its wrist. It saved itself from immediate death, but it also left itself wide open. It was too slow to recover and, before it did, Damian was right in front of it. He shoved his sword into the fourth class's stomach, and in a moment, its spine was shoved out of its back with his sword stuck into it.

It looked down at him and gasped out, "But, it's not…silver." Then its eyes rolled back and Damian rolled it over, placed his foot on its chest, and took out his sword. The other werewolf just stood there as Damian retrieved his knives and spear and walked in front of him. Sean was about to walk up next to him, but Jake grabbed him by his left shoulder and shoved him back to a seated position.

"Patience."

Damian stood in front of the last werewolf with a quizzical look on his face. This one had let him kill the other one, even going so far as to let the other think that it was attacking with it, but at the same time it made no effort to run. Then it spoke.

"Hello again Damian. It has been awhile since last I saw you."

The look on Damian's face only deepened, how could this third class werewolf know him? Then, however, it hit him. This was no third class, but was actually his quarry, a first class werewolf. He almost smiled with joy.

"Hello again Wulf. Yes it has. A fraction too long by my reckoning. You have had this coming for a very long time." He wrapped both of his hands around his spear and settled into a stance.

"Well, I could certainly figure out your zeal just by watching how you've been tracking me for months. Do your superiors know what you're doing?" Wulf was still calmly standing a few feet away from Damian.

"Yes, I was sent on this hunt as an official mission. The fact that you happen to be a first class is the main point here, but regardless, I'm here on official purpose."

"Oh, well aren't we just the coldly formal one. I don't seem to remember you being quite so formal when you met with my brother. But I suppose that is understandable. You were under considerable grief and stress at the time." Wulf's eyes glinted red with glee.

"Whatever, shall we do this?" Damian lowered his head and lengthened his stance.

"Sure, but before we do, I have something completely fascinating to show you. It's what we get once we pass from being a second class to a first class. I personally think that you will enjoy it." Wulf growled. The growl seemed to start in his stomach and flow through his lungs before bursting from his mouth. Then he clenched every muscle possible, and bit down hard into his lower lip. His blood dripped down his chin, but he did not seem to notice, the only thing he noticed now was Damian. He slowly lifted his head and looked at the moon.

There was a part of Damian that shouted at him to just finish this fight now, to just stab Wulf in the heart while he was not paying attention, but another part of him was immensely curious as to what this first class ability was. Unfortunately, that second part proved to be the stronger.

Sean and Jake were also very curious as to what was going on. They both sat a safe distance away from the two warriors and just observed their interactions. Jake was busy bandaging his small wounds, while Sean watched the exchange with great interest and held his shoulder.

Wulf lowered his head before throwing it up again and letting out a howl at the moon, which seemed as if it had just reached its zenith in the sky. At first it sounded like a lonely, mournful howl that wafted across the night and made Damian nostalgic just by listening to it, but then it slowly turned to one of anger. Wulf's eyes began to roll all around inside their sockets, and his pupils were completely enveloped with blackness. Soon, the howl turned to one of intense anguish, and pain.

Wulf screamed as his muscles burst through his skin. They each expanded to about five times their normal size, and his skeletal frame also increased to a size far larger than it was before. As his skin fell to the ground in tatters all around him, he fixed Damian with eyes that were now completely black, with not even the whites showing. He was bleeding all over, but then his bleeding stopped, and new skin reformed itself over his entire body. Soon his fur had also grown back as well.

Damian looked up at this werewolf. Wulf must have been fully twelve feet tall, and his sword now looked like a child's toy inside his hand. Wulf towered over him, and Damian could tell that strength could not be his only enhancement. Wulf returned Damian's look with large, threatening eyes and snarled.

"What do you think of the first class ability fool? You still think you can beat me?" Wulf's voice had not changed at least, although he spoke it through teeth that looked to be almost six inches long.

Despite himself, Damian could not help but show a brave face. "Your transformation appears quite ferocious. I hope that my own looks quite different after I kill you and gain it."

"Fool, only death awaits you." Wulf tossed aside his sword and lunged towards Damian with his hands leading. He lashed out at Damian with both of his hands, and right before Damian dodged, he saw that his claws were also about five inches long. Damian ducked under both lethal attacks and sliced Wulf's leg open on the inside of the thigh with his spear. Wulf paid no attention to the wound and lifted up a hand to slam Damian into the ground. He struck downwards with great might, and if the blow had hit him, Damian had no doubt that he would be dead. As it was, though, he managed to roll to the side, but he got back up to his feet just in time to see Wulf's other gigantic fist smash into his chest.

For one moment, life itself seemed to go into slow motion for Damian as he saw that fist impact into him. He looked down to see his chest actually bend into itself and could have sworn he saw little ripples in it. The funniest thing he noted was how he did not feel any pain. At about the moment of that revelation was when time returned to its normal pace and Damian's nerves finally contacted his brain with what had just happened. He gasped out in pain and flew backwards from the sheer power of the attack. Fortunately, he retained enough of his senses to curl into a ball, and so, when he hit the ground, he received no more damage.

Damian tried to quickly jump to his feet, but once he did he fell to his knees, gasping for air from lungs that were too badly shocked to do anything. He grabbed his chest with one hand in a vain effort to stop the pain that was flowing from it out into the rest of his body. He knew that none of his bones had been broken, which amazed him, but that knowledge did nothing to assuage the pain coursing through him. Eventually, after what seemed like minutes, he gritted his teeth and regained his feet again. His lungs still felt like they were only barely working, but he could not let go now.

Sean was amazed when he saw the vampire get back up from the ground only seconds after falling to his knees. He had almost felt that blow from where he sat, and he had certainly heard it.

"Nothing could have been able to survive that strength, let alone stand back up in moments." He could not keep the awe out of his voice.

Even Jake seemed to be at a loss for some sarcastic comment. Only shock was displayed on his face as well. "Yea, this is crazy. Still, there's no way he'll win, we better get ready to either try to kill that other thing, or run." Despite his words, though, he just could not take his eyes away from these two warriors.

Damian forced himself back into a shaky battle stance and wondered why Wulf had not attacked. Then he saw Wulf stare down at his wounded leg, and his flesh quickly re-knit itself until there was no sign that a wound had ever been there. This time, even Damian could not help but let his amazement be shown on his face. Wulf laughed.

"Yep, not only have my speed, strength, and size been amplified, but my regenerative factor is now quite amazing. It can even heal wounds made by silver. What have you to say to that?"

Damian merely gritted his teeth and deepened his stance. Wulf narrowed his eyes dangerously and he charged forward once again. When he reached Damian he swung both of his hands in a scissors-like strike. Damian crouched under the attack, but then when Wulf kicked out with his foot Damian leapt up, just barely passing through hole between Wulf's arms, and stuck his feet out to land on them. Before Wulf could do anything else, Damian ran onto his shoulder and jumped forward as fast as he could. Even as he jumped away, though, he let his spear drag down and cut a line into Wulf's neck.

Wulf quickly spun around and tried to strike Damian, but he was already out of his immediate reach. He looked to the side to see Damian apparently running for his life.

"I'm disappointed in you Damian. I thought you would have figured out by now that you cannot outrun one of us." He crouched and began to charge towards Damian on all fours. He closed the ground between them in seconds, and just when the time was right he sprang forward. Damian ran on until Wulf was almost on top of him before he spun to the side and slashed another line across Wulf's face. He watched as Wulf flew by him, groping his face as both of his eyes split in half. Without being able to see where he was going, Wulf smashed into a tree with the full force of his lunge behind him. As soon as he made contact with the tree, Damian was right behind him. Damian yelled as he plunged his spear through Wulf's back with all of his strength. The blow missed Wulf's heart, but it did pierce through a lung and also stick its way into the tree in front of him.

Wulf had to wait until his eyes found each other and reformed back into singular circles before he could try to do anything, but once they did and he tried to get out of where he was, he noticed that his regenerative ability had closed his skin around the spear sticking into him. He tried to stick out both of his hands to push himself off of the tree, but both of his hands were pinned to the tree by two knives. He grunted with aggravation. With both of his arms completely outstretched, and his skin already closing around the knives, he could not rip his arms out. Behind him, Damian chuckled.

"I guess your healing factor is not as good as you seem to think it is. It looks like it has trapped you."

Wulf did not reply. He only clenched his hands, shoving his long claws into the flesh of the tree, and bent over backwards, taking the tree with him. Once again Damian was struck speechless at Wulf's sheer strength as he ripped the tree out of its roots, breaking his own back in the process. It almost instantly reformed, and he spun to the side before letting go of the tree and sending it and all of the weapons stuck to it out and away from his body. It took a few more seconds for the wounds caused by the weapons to close up, but then Wulf turned around and he and Damian stared at one another.

"Wow." Damian could think of nothing else to say.

"Yea, I think that about sums it up," Wulf seemed remarkably calm for having just broken his back. "That hurt."

"The next one will hurt even more." Damian grasped the handle of his sword and pulled it from its short sheath. He grabbed hold of the handle with both hands, thinking that he would need the extra strength provided by that style. Wulf bared his fangs in a growl.

"You really think that'll work?" Wulf flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders experimentally. "It's not even silver."

"I think that I will still find a way to kill you, do not worry."

Another growl issued from Wulf, and once again he ran forward. When he reached Damian he swiped out with one claw. Damian succeeded in ducking under this, but he was too slow to dodge when Wulf slashed up with his second hand. His claws dug four furrows into Damian's chest and lifted him a couple feet into the air. Damian landed back on his feet, but he had no strength to do anything more than just stand, at least for the moment. Wulf took advantage of this momentary paralysis to throw all of his weight into a kick that caught Damian in the stomach.

Damian's senses cleared in one moment as he felt what very well could have been his stomach burst apart inside him. Once again his feet left the earth and he felt himself enter the state of weightlessness that had become so familiar lately. This time, however, a tree that was far closer than it had been when he had judged his surroundings ended his flight rather abruptly. His breath left him again, but this time he also heard several snaps that could only mean broken bones. He stayed stuck to the tree for a moment, before his momentum left him and he slumped to the forest floor. He slowly tried to get up, but by the time he was on his hands and knees he felt claws dig into his back, and he was lifted into the air until he was face-to-snout with Wulf.

"Heh, I will admit that that whole 'pinning me' thing was pretty smart, but you underestimate the powers that I gained when I became a first class."

Damian realized that he was in no condition to continue this fight in the same manner he had been. He stared into Wulf's pure black eyes and spoke only one word. "Darkness." Immediately, pure blackness settled over both of their eyes. It was not the kind of blackness that came from there being no moon or stars on a Darkovia night, both vampires and werewolves could see perfectly in that kind of darkness. No, this was pure and utter darkness, the kind that could only be achieved by one method.

"Magic." Wulf growled but then gasped when he felt a sharp stinging in his arm and dropped Damian in his startled condition. In a moment, he realized what he had done and lunged forward to try to retrieve Damian, but he was not where he had been. Wulf tried to calm himself, but he was not used to being in such a situation, and he did not even know if Damian was blinded as well. Before he could calm himself he let out a small growl of annoyance.

Damian, who was also blinded, heard the growl and knew exactly where Wulf was. He swiftly, but carefully, so that he did not make a sound, lunged towards Wulf's position and swung his sword with all of his strength. He felt his sword make contact with Wulf's flesh and slice through it as Damian passed him by. Damian had hoped for a killing blow, but he was just a bit too far to the side, and his attack completely gave away his position to Wulf. Wulf, now enraged by the pain in his side, reflexively swung his arm in a low backhand, connecting with Damian's back and sending him sprawling to the ground again.

Damian lay on the ground, surrounded by the blackness, and tried to get up. He knew that if he let go of the darkness, Wulf would immediately kill him in his current state. He barely had enough strength to hold the darkness, but he had to, at least until he could get to his feet. He struggled to his knees, and was just barely able to get one foot onto the ground before he gave in to the strain and let go of his spell. Color came just as suddenly as it had when it left them, and he shakily stood to his feet even as Wulf turned around to look at him. 'I cannot take much more of this,' Damian thought, wearily.

Wulf looked down at the wound in his side, which had come just short of cutting into his spine, for a second, waiting for it to regenerate. When it did not regenerate, he looked at Damian with what could have been astonishment or pure anger.

"You—You're sword…" His voice quivered, but Damian could now tell that it was most certainly from anger, and not surprise.

Damian smiled weakly and held his sword out in front of him. "Yes, the ore of this sword is called Wolfsbane, or, as I affectionately call it: Wulfsbane."

"That's the exact same thing, moron."

"No, you see, it is normally spelled with an 'O,' but I spelled it with a 'U.'"

"How was I supposed to know?"

Damian sighed, but he was thankful for the break he was getting here. He was actually starting to lose that hazy feeling that had covered his brain for awhile. "I would not expect a savage like you to get the complexities involved in such satire."

"Then why did you tell it to me? Were you expecting those slayers over there to applaud you?" Wulf shot his head at the slayers, just so that they would know he had not forgotten them. Both of them cringed a bit.

"No, I have been waiting a very long time for this Wulf, and wanted you to know just how personal this fight was." Damian focused on slowing his breathing and slowly checking his body for broken or fractured bones. He counted about five or so.

Wulf glared at him for a second. "Oh, this is definitely personal. You did, in fact, kill my brother not too long ago. You hunted him down and cut him down from behind, just like the filthy, cowardly, arrogant bloodsucker you are."

"That is true, and I would have done the same to you, had you not noticed my presence. I'm surprised that you deemed it necessary to have so many minions for a lowly vampire such as myself."

Wulf seemed to see that this conversation was getting him nowhere, but he needed to see if his how long it would take his healing factor to heal his wounds. He knew that it would eventually close up, but he hoped that 'eventually' meant very soon, his side was hurting and his arm was not healing from the cut it had received either. He needed a bit more time. "So, why did you hunt my brother down? You went for him specifically didn't you?"

"I did. I did it because I thought that he was you at the time." Damian was feeling much better, but he knew that this conversation had to take place.

"And why were—are you hunting me, prey tell?"

"Well, I do not expect you to remember this, but your brother and you slaughtered my entire family in front of me about fifty years ago. I was just a child, and my father had told me to go into the cellar for some reason. Through that window, I watched as the two of you ripped my family to shreds and devoured them. For this you will pay with your life."

For the first time in awhile, Wulf chuckled. "You know what? You're right. I have absolutely no memory of killing your family. Who were they again?"

Damian lowered his face for a moment. "Their names were Kyrion, my father; Nicole; my mother; and Helen, my sister. Once I am finished with you, you will be able to recite them back to me, and everyone who passes by your corpse will know them as well, because I will carve their names into you chest."

This time Wulf barked into the night with delight. "Hah, brave words from such a small being. It's too bad; I still don't remember a thing about your family. Oh well, I guess they weren't too memorable. I do, however, remember my brother. You never even challenged him like any other honorable warrior would have done. You vampires consider us to be the animals, but you are far worse than we could ever be."

"That's probably true, but regardless of whether it is or not, I will kill you this night." Damian resumed his stance, which had been relaxing while they spoke to each other.

Wulf smiled, showing all of his many teeth, and pointed one huge claw at Damian. "Come and get me, bloodsucker."

Just at the end of the clearing, Sean and Jake were just finishing their preparations for the end of the battle. Sean had loaded his flintlock pistol with a silver bullet, and Jake had loaded his with a wooden bullet. So now they just had to wait to see which one won, and then to shoot him. Despite Jake's extreme optimism about their ability to pull this off, Sean was getting very worried.

"But, but the werewolf can regenerate silver." He rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly, while watching the two warriors talking.

Jake sighed and checked his gun again. "Then shoot him in the head or heart, I doubt he'll live through that."

Sean looked at the ground, his eyes filled with confusion. "Are…Are you sure that what we're doing is right?"

This time Jake stopped checking his gun and stared at Sean. "Of course. You know what those two are. They're monsters, and the only reason that vampire did not kill us once you let it out was because it couldn't beat all of those on its own. There is nothing but evil inside that thing. Weren't you paying attention at the vampire slayer academy?"

"Yea," Sean seemed ashamed and shuffled his feet while still looking down at the ground. "But, he just doesn't seem as evil as they said vampires were."

"Listen, don't let him fool you. You know what he did to…Mike, and what he tried to do to Serenade. This is just something vampires do. They try to make you think that they're not that bad, and once you trust them, they kill you."

"Yea, but, what if, you know, Mike…deserved what happened to him?" Sean was looking down, so he did not notice Jake walking towards him until he was right in front of him. Sean looked up in time to see Jake slap him in the face. He fell to the ground and put his hand to cheek. He felt blood, and for one rage-filled second, he felt the unmistakable urge to rise to his feet and rip Jake apart. However, even as the feeling formed he was terrified of it and smashed it down. He just looked back up to see Jake trembling. Jake stared back down at him before speaking in a trembling voice.

"Never, Never say anything like that ever again! Those beasts killed my wife, and thousands of others without any provocation. It doesn't matter whether this particular one deserves what he's getting or not. The fact is that his race is evil, and as a result, he must be destroyed. This was our job before, during, and after his murder of Mike and anyone else. We are vampire slayers for Devourer's sake! Now get up and get ready before I have you sent back to the academy to relearn the basics of our job."

Once again Sean looked at the ground. Now he was ashamed for bringing up his doubts. He knew that Jake was right, and he had joined the vampire slayers because he wanted to destroy evil, but this just seemed different than anything any of his instructors had told him. "Yes sir."

Jake's face softened a bit. "Good," he held out his hand, "Now get yourself on up to your feet mate."

Sean smiled and took the hand. Just as he got back to his feet he saw the Vampire move. "They're going."

Damian, not waiting for Wulf to make a move, ran at him. He tucked his sword close to him and closed the gap quickly, while yelling out an unintelligible battle cry. At first Sean could not make any sense of what he was saying, but then, even when he figured out what it was, it made no sense to him.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen. Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." He reached Wulf and swung at him both all of his might, using a two handed grip. Wulf, having been the aggressor for the entire match up until now, was taken by surprise. He was forced to dodge backwards while lashing out with one hand. Damian ducked under the strike, but then he placed his hands on the ground and launched himself to the side, dodging the second attack as well. He got back up to his feet to spun to his left, barely dodging a kick that splintered the side of a tree that it glanced against, and sliced a line across the outstretched thigh.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Wulf lunged forward with both of his hands outstretched. He placed them at different heights so that Damian could not dodge, but Damian leapt over the attack and spun while in the air, barely dodging a vicious snap from Wulf's jaws, and slashed another line down Wulf's shoulder blade.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." He landed, was swept by Wulf's tail, grabbed Wulf's tail in the air, and chopped it off. He landed on his back, but he was back up in a second.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Wulf Spun around, sweeping his right fist around in a devastating arc that would that would have crushed Damian had it hit him. Damian bent backwards, placing one hand on the ground for balance, and avoided the strike. By the time Wulf lost momentum, Damian was right in front of him, and inside his guard.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Damian shoved his sword deep into Wulf's gut, It cut clean through his abdominal muscles, large intestine, and even dug into his spine. This last part was Damian's undoing. For while Wulf screamed his pain and agony to the moon, Damian's sword was too embedded for him to pull it out with one wrench. Before he could try a second pull, Wulf wrapped his hands around Damian, his claws cutting numerous deep holes into Damian's body. Damian's arms were pinioned, but he still lifted his leg and kicked his sword farther into Wulf's body. Wulf only growled and lifted Damian into the air until he feet dangled above the ground. Damian tried to struggle, kicking strenuously and jerking his body around, but it was far too pointless. Wulf's strength was superior as he slowly squeezed his hands, breaking Damian's ribs in the process. Wulf grinned.

"Ah, now that you mention it, Damian, I do remember your family. Your father, heh, he tried to stop us with a pickaxe, even shoved it into my chest. Fool, too bad he was too weak to do anything more than that. Especially after we ripped off his arms, gouged out his eyes, and then ripped open his ribcage. I remember him whimpering, even up until we feasted on his first lung, strong fellow that one. Most give up and die after about the first or second arm. Your mother kept screaming his name in a most pathetic way. It was your sister, however, that really made me remember. She was such a beautiful girl, far too beautiful to just pass by. In the end, her heart was even more delicious than she was. It's too bad she died so soon, I would have loved to have taken her with me and kept her as a—." Wulf stopped. A look of surprise was sketched on his lupine features.

Damian's skin began to turn black, and his muscles and bones began to grow in size as well. He growled in pain as horns burst from his head, twisting until they resembles goats horns, and wings burst from his back, flowing in the night wind. Wulf stared in amazement as he realized that Damian was now staring him in the face with purely red eyes. His feet rested on the ground and he was now only a head shorter than Wulf. Wulf stared in amazement for a second.

"B—but you need to be a first class to achieve that power." He gasped, before suddenly realizing that his claws were not digging into Damian's flesh any more, and that all of Damian's wounds were healed. Damian stared at him with eyes of malice.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Damian's voice was convoluted, it seemed like several voices overlaid each other, and his teeth were jagged. His hands came up and clasped onto Wulf's arms. For a moment, the two titans struggled with one another, both of their muscles straining to overcome the other. Then, however, Wulf's arm that had been slashed gave in, breaking at the point of the cut. Damian quickly twisted his wrist, tearing Wulf's arm off before grabbing the other arm with both hands and kicking Wulf in the stomach. Wulf howled in fear and pain as his second arm was torn from his torso.

In moments, Wulf's healing factor kicked in and skin grafted itself over the stumps of what was left of his arms. Wulf regained his senses and kicked out with one of his feet, but Damian dodged to the side, grabbed the leg with one hand as it passed, pulled Wulf forward, and chopped the leg off with his elongated nails on his other hand. Wulf lost his balance and was about to fall when Damian grabbed his last remaining appendage with one hand while digging his other up into Wulf's chest cavity from below. Without a second's hesitation, Damian ripped that leg off, leaving Wulf with no arms or legs as he fell to the ground. Of course, Wulf's healing factor did manage to close the wounds for him. Damian stared down at Wulf's torso.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen."

Wulf growled with rage.

"Say it!" Damian slashed Wulf across his face, cutting gashes into it. "Kyrion, Nicole, Helen!"

"K—Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Wulf gasped out.

"Again!" Damian's wings flexed and shot outward, and his horns grew a bit more out of his head.

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." Wulf could barely speak from the pain.

"Louder murderer. Louder spawn of Lucifer."

"Kyrion, Nicole, Helen!" Wulf yelled out with all of his strength.

"Good!" Damian shoved his hand into Wulf's chest, ripped out his still-beating heart, and shoved his fangs into the side of it. Once he drained all of the fluids from it, he shoved the rest of it into his mouth. Even as he finished, Wulf's healing factor broke, and all of the wounds he had received suddenly burst apart, with blood spurting from every conceivable area. As he died, Damian felt the surge of power that came from Wulf's heart blast into him even as he returned to his normal, humanoid form. He screamed in agony as the rushing blood now healed his wounds, which he had thought were healed by his transformation, and he could immediately tell the differences inside him. He knew that he was stronger, faster, and that his senses were keener. He gasped in relief and pain. It was finally over.

However, he stiffened when he heard a gunshot and felt wood rip into him. 'That is right. The slayers.' He felt his strength drain from him because of the wood that was still inside his body and slumped to the ground. 'Oh well, I guess it is better this way. I am evil, after all.'

Sean screamed with pain and grabbed his should while Jake ran towards Damian. He had seen the hit, but he had to make sure that he was dead. That had been one hell of a fight, but now it was time for justice to be paid. He was just glad that the vampire had reverted from his…Other form to normal, otherwise they probably would have been killed. As it was, he walked up to Damian and held his wooden stake with both hands. He stood over the corpse and raised the stake above his head.

"I'm sorry, vampire, but this is how things must be done. You are evil, the werewolves are evil, and we must cleanse evil. We must—" He never got to finish his sentence. Suddenly, he looked up to see that he had no hands. Then he looked behind his shoulder to see them land on the ground a ways away from him. His mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened, but once it did he looked down to see Damian in a kneeling position, with his sword in one hand and his other hand digging the bullet out of his side. Damian looked at Jake and smiled.

"You know, usually I would say something like 'evil is a matter of perspective', but this time, I will admit it and agree with you. I am most definitely evil." His smile did not seem arrogant, smug, or evil, but that just made it all the more malevolent.

"S—Sean!" Jake turned around to see his partner rolling on the ground, screaming with pain and clutching his shoulder. Then Jake heard Damian's voice right next to his ear.

"He cannot help you. Unfortunately, no one can help you. You will die tonight. Look at it this way though, at least you are not going to become damned for all of eternity. No, you will go to wherever those who do good deeds go. Consider yourself lucky, Jake, to not be counted among the damned." The words comforted Jake, and he ceased the screaming he had not noticed he had started. "Do not worry, you will not become one of us tonight, I will make sure to drain everything from you. Now close your eyes." Jake obeyed, and after he felt Damian's teeth pierce him, he never opened them again.

Sean was still screaming by the time Damian had retrieved all of his weapons and cut out the other werewolves' hearts. He finished sewing the arteries of the last one, so that the blood would stay in it, while he walked up to Sean. Sean was covered with sweat, and his eyes were full of fear. He looked at Damian before letting out another scream and rolling onto his side, still grabbing at his shoulder. Damian rolled him back over so that they were facing each other.

"What's, what's happening to me?" Sean's voice trembled in pain.

"You seem to have been bitten by a werewolf, Sean." Damian stared at him. His expression was emotionless.

Sean's eyes opened even wider as a new fear entered them. "What's that mean?"

"It means that you will soon turn into a werewolf, and become one of them for eternity, or until you are killed and your heart is devoured." Damian's eyes softened with pity for this young man.

"Is there any way to stop it? I don't want…To become a werewolf." Sean grimaced as another burst of pain flowed from his should to the rest of his body.

Damian stared into Sean's eyes. His face hardened. "I do not blame you. Yes, there is a way, but there is only one way."

"What? What way?" Sean's eyes sparkled with hope once again.

"You have to be beheaded by a silver weapon before the curse turns you."

Fear filled Sean's face once again. "You mean…You mean I have to die?"

"Yes, either that or become a werewolf. I am leaving here soon. I will not kill you if you decide to live, but you must decide for yourself. Do you want to live a life among the beasts, or do you want to end your life now?" Damian stood and pulled out his spear.

"I…I…I…Can't I have a bit to think?" Sean was panicked and hyperventilating.

"You have about a minute before you enter the pre-werewolf phase, after that, I am leaving so that you will not track me."

"Well, well, um. I guess I'll uh. Damian?"

"Yes?"

"I refuse to live my life like that. I have devoted my life to ridding the world of evil. I cannot become part of it. Could you please kill me? I cannot…Do it myself. I can barely move, it hurts so much." For just a moment, Sean's eyes cleared of all pain and panic, and he spoke with complete conviction.

Damian smiled. "I wish I had the strength you do when it was my turn to choose. Very well, I would say that I will see you again, in the afterlife, but I think that we will be going to different places. Oh, and when you get there, tell Jake that I'm sorry."

Sean smiled back at him. "I will, is it okay if I close my eyes?"

"Yes, please do so." Damian settled into a back stance and readied himself.

Sean kept his smile on his face and clamped his eyes shut. "D—Do…" his voice faltered.

"I know." Damian slashed down and, in one smooth motion he sliced Sean's throat open, sending blood flowing over Sean's clothes and making him gasp from the pain. Another cut sent the side of the spear halfway through his throat, and with one more slash, Sean's head rolled away from his body. Somehow, he was still smiling.

Damian stared down at the head before he turned away, cleaned his weapons on Jake's shirt, and set off on his way back to the vampire castle.

'I really am evil.' He shook his head to try to clear Sean's smile from his mind.

- 22 -


	6. Repercussions

Author's note: This was a very important chapter way back when I wrote it. I had to decide whether I really wanted to continue my story that I had written on a whim or if I just wanted to stop. Also, with the creation of Bryce, I found a great source of writing. He became the second main character of my story, and a very valuable one at that.

6

Repercussions

"He's killed…about nineteen people already sir, and that's not even countin' the Drakel. That's more than any single vampire or werewolf has killed in the last thirty years. There's no doubt that we need ta' destroy this evil vamp." The speaker, a short, stocky dwarf, stood in front of a desk. His large hat had been removed, and his long brown hair fell to his waist, while his beard was braided and almost hung to the floor. He had brown eyes that seemed overly large for such a small body, and was dressed in a large cloak and a wide hat that looked a little ridiculous on him.

"Uh, sir, if I could just correct the short one. The six on the road were reported to be bandits, so it is probable that they attacked him and he fought and killed them in self-defense. In regards to that, it appears that one of then escaped. The men who reported the deaths said that their leader, John, was not among the dead." The second speaker was a tall elf who stood beside the dwarf. He was also dressed in a brown cloak, but had taken off his large hat. His flowing blonde hair fell to his shoulder blades, and seemed to be the only hair he possessed. His face was beautiful, as all elf faces are, but a cloth was wrapped around his eyes. Unlike his partner, this elf wore his cloak with a bearing that seemed to befit an elf.

"Bah, don't listen to him sir, even though they may have been bandits (and successful ones at that), that fact still doesn't excuse him killing them. Even if it did, he should be hunted down just for killing that young man, who was just trying to protect his sweetheart." The dwarf was speaking to his superior, but he was looking up at the elf, daring him to rebut.

The elf shook his head. "About that, the autopsy that was conducted on the young man stated that he was stabbed from behind. There was no way that he could have 'fought off' the vampire after being stabbed in the back. Also, he had several scrapes and a bruise on his groin area, indicating a knee strike. I think that we need to re-think our opinion on just what happened in that forest."

"The young girl herself said that that's what happened. Why would she lie for a filthy vampire murderer, and against him on top of that." A quick flash of white burst through the dwarf's voluminous beard as he smiled in triumph.

"Now that part I have yet to figure out, but I think that the girl did not want to spoil the young man's reputation. This whole situation turned out well for her, by the way. She joined the paladins about two months ago, and the paladin commander himself said that she is already a skilled fighter and mage."

The dwarf harrumphed loudly. "So yer saying that the vampire rescued the girl from the boy?"

The elf sighed quietly. "Yes, that is what I believe."

"Bull, but even if that was true, what about the seven innocent humans and two vampire slayers he killed. He brutally mangled the seven, cut out their hearts, and even carved 'Tyrion, Nicole, Helen' in one's chest. That happened not even a month ago."

"While I cannot excuse the slayer's deaths, I believe that the others were

definitely werewolves (Why else would he pull out their hearts?), and that the vampire fought along with Sean and Jake against them. It looked like he would have let them go, from my observations of the area, had Jake not attacked. Sean was a mercy killing, he was becoming a werewolf, but Jake's death was, as you said, unforgivable." The elf seemed to be concentrating very hard, as if he were pulling up a mental map of the area he had been to.

"He pulled out their hearts because he's a psycho crazy mass murderer who enjoys feasting on civilian's hearts, that's why! At least you said something right, though, the murder of Jake and Sean was unforgivable. This thing is evil, just like all of the other vamps an' wolves."

The elf turned his head to blindly regard the dwarf. His cloth hid any emotion he might have shown on his angelic face. "You are generalizing. You know as well as I do that there have been good vampires and werewolves in the past."

"Exactly, in the past! They aren't around anymore, and they're never coming back. You're just too much of a pansy elf to realize this!"

Whatever the elf's response would have been was cut off by E breaking into the conversation from his seat behind his desk. "Shut up you to! I brought you here to give a report on your findings, not to give me your personal opinions and tell me what to do while bickering amongst each other!" He was getting rather exasperated by this entire situation.

The dwarf lowered his head, slightly ashamed for letting his anger get in the way of his reasoning and manners. The elf, however, lifted his chin in slight defiance, confident in his position. E looked at the two of them and his gaze softened. These two, despite their respective bloodlines and ancestry, were actually quite good friends. Even though they did argue almost constantly. The elf, Bryce, was blind, and had been so ever since he gouged his own eyes out in order to see being's life forces and the evil inside them. He claimed that it was a good trade, but E still wondered. The dwarf, Dejan, was about as short as he was short-tempered, but in the end he was good-natured and usually easy to get along with. Knowing him, he probably only thought that this vampire was evil because Bryce thought that he was not.

Dejan, unlike most of his race, was a very good shot with his bow made from goat's horns, although he was also an adept fighter with his two-handed silver hammer if the enemy ever got that close to him. Contrarily (which seemed to be standard with these two), Bryce had never been a good shot with a bow by his people's standards, although he was still better than most humans were. His real strength, however, came from his expert use of a sword. He was one of the best fighters in all of the vampire slayers, and he was certainly the best with a sword, excluding E himself that is. The two of them had been partners for over ten years, and they almost never went on missions separately. For while they were both amazing fighters on their own, together they formed the best team E had.

E brought his mind back to the present. "Look, I don't care whether this vampire is guilty or not. The fact is that both he infiltrated Amityvale twice, committed murders, and got away. The townsfolk are getting worried. I need the two of you to go to Amityvale and conduct a separate investigation of what happened and, if you can, to track down the vampire. Do not, however, do anything stupid, I cannot afford to lose either of you at this time…Oh, and I want no shooting until you actually find out what you are shooting at, is that clear Dejan?" he looked pointedly at the short dwarf.

"Yea, sure thing boss." Dejan mumbled.

"What was that? I'm not quite sure that heard you just excitedly acknowledge the benevolent grace I showed by giving you the privilege of redeeming yourself for shooting one our horses because you thought that it was a werewolf."

"I said yes sir! Thank you sir!" Dejan stood straight, clicked his heels, and saluted. "I await working under this blasted tree bugger with great enthusiasm."

"Alright then," E ignored being patronized. "Also, I'm placing Bryce in charge of this mission, any problems with that?"

Neither of them had any. Having Bryce as the leader had always been how it was. Dejan would accept it now, but later he would complain about it, just like he always did. Bryce could never tell whether Dejan complained because he was actually upset about something, or if he only did because that was what his race did. That had always been a strange mystery between the two of them.

They went to their rooms to prepare for the upcoming trip. Bryce packed several different sets of clothes, his slender curved sword, his bow, arrows, and a spear he had with him for throwing. All of his weapons had silver blades. Dejan took out his bow, a powerful dwarf bow made with mountain goat horns that fired silver-tipped arrows, his heavy armor, and his two-handed hammer that was silver and coated with holy water. When they reached the courtyard that served as a kind of hub for the vampire slayer's activities, they stood for a moment and looked each other over.

"I can tell that you've brought only that one change of clothes again." Bryce pretended to sniff in disgust.

Dejan responded by spitting on the ground. "Yea, an' I can guess that you've got several pairs a' clothes just picked out for any occasion."

"Oh, but of course," Bryce smiled while performing a sweeping bow. "It just wouldn't due to be caught at the wrong time without the perfect apparel to appropriately match the situation now would it?"

Another blob of phlegm burst upon the cobblestone. "Bah, we dwarves know that all ya' need is yer armor and a good weapon. Any place that 'apparel' ain't appropriate in ain't worth goin' to. An' that's a fact."

Bryce sighed and shook his head, feigning distress. "You dwarves, when will you ever listen to us and start behaving like immortals are meant to?"

"When you elves start growin' beards lad." Dejan put his fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing shriek. "Bloody unnatural, not having a beard." He mumbled to himself.

Bryce Looked up to the side and let his consciousness flow out of him until he caught the mind of a giant eagle that was nesting somewhere nearby. The eagle responded to his touch with enthusiasm and in seconds it was soaring through the air. It reached him in about a minute, but long before then a huge wolf loped through the gates of the vampire slayer castle and ran to Dejan. The dwarf smiled and let the wolf lick his face before he slapped it on the shoulder affectionately.

"Ye're a good one Hrathgar, ye're way better than any old eagle now arntcha' boy?" Hrathgar just smiled a wolf smile and let his tongue wag while Dejan ran his stubby finger's through his fur, searching for ticks. In a minute, a shadow fell over them, and Bryce's eagle descended to the cobblestone courtyard. Bryce smiled and began to saddle it while speaking to it with his mind.

'How are you doing Flenwing?'

'I am well master, and yourself?'

'Fine, fine. Are you ready for this?'

'I always am master.'

Bryce hopped onto Flenwing's saddle and turned to see Dejan already mounted on Hrathgar's bare back. Dejan was looking at him quizzically, but then he just spoke a word to Hrathgar, and the two of them were off. Bryce gave no command to Flenwing, but his thoughts were enough. Moments after Dejan exited the courtyard and started down the road, Bryce was flying above him and keeping pace with him.

"Bloody druid show off." Dejan grumbled. Hrathgar barked in agreement.

The rest of the trip went by in relative silence, because in order for Bryce to keep pace with Dejan, Flenwing had to go rather high so that he could catch the updrafts. Still, even with the silence, they knew that the trip would be relatively short, since Hrathgar and Flenwing were exceptionally fast. They always raced each other too, to see which was the fastest on any given day.

Bryce contented himself to just relax and let his gaze sweep over the forest that they were just beginning to enter. Without his sight, Bryce was deprived of any texture, but with the powers he gained without his eyes he could see the life pulsing from every tree, animal, and blade of grass. With this other site the forest of Darkovia appeared to be a pulsing sea of red, yellow, and orange life energy. He still had not decided whether he had made a wise trade or not, but he felt reaffirmed whenever he used his sight to tell an evil person from a good one. It was while he was musing on this very state of affairs that his sight was suddenly drawn to a spot farther along the road, one closer to Amityvale, where many evil individuals appeared to be skirmishing with a smaller group of relatively good humans. The good ones seemed to be loosing from what Bryce could see, so he quickly sent his mind down to Dejan and invaded his brain.

'Dangit' Bryce, you know I hate it when you do this.' Dejan gave a mental growl.

'Yes, I know. However, there appears to be a group of humans fighting another group of humans. The more numerous group is rather evil. Shall we help the good ones?'

Dejan did not need to think. 'Hell yea elf, lead the way!'

'Just follow the road.' Reassured with Dejan's enthusiasm, Bryce sent Flenwing into a steep drop towards the sight of the skirmish. He knew that Dejan would follow. Once Flenwing was close to the treeline, Bryce drew his sword, took his feet from the stirrups, and vaulted to the ground. He landed right behind on of the assailants, and before the man could turn, Bryce spun around, his curved sword cutting a clean line across the man's spine. As that man fell to the ground, Flenwing dropped Bryce his spear and he launched it at another man who had his opponent on the ground. The man staggered before being impaled by his beaten adversary. Two other men left fighting the other group to charge at Bryce, they both swung overhead at the same time, so Bryce just blocked one's sword into the other's. They would have continued, but Bryce just could not pass up the opportunity provided by both of their wrists being right next to each other. He cut off both of their sword hands and before moving around them and slicing off their other hands.

'Just in case they're ambidextrous,' He reasoned before stabbing his sword through both of their heads at once.

From the screams of those two, most of the others figured out that Bryce was very dangerous, so about ten of them gathered in front of him. They did not speak to him in some effort to try to make him surrender, they just all charged at once. Before they had taken their first step, one fell to the ground with an arrow in his throat. By the time they came to Bryce, only four of them were left.

"Easy." Bryce spun towards the first, blocking his thrust with his sword before cutting a nice line down the man's chest. Bryce then lunged back while two others lunged and stabbed. The two recovered from their attacks, but they were far too close to each other. Before the first could blink, he was impaled. The second one actually blocked Bryce's first cut, but even while he was recovering from the blow, Bryce cut him five times in various parts of his body before slicing open his throat. The last one thought that he was sneaking up on Bryce, but as he raised his mace, an arrow imbedded itself into his chest right under his arm, piercing both of his lungs and his heart as well.

There was only about five enemy warriors left now, so Dejan put his bow back in its sheath and pulled out his hammer. The first warrior he met swung his axe at him. Dejan laughed and swung his hammer at the axe. When the two met, the axe shattered into pieces and Dejan swung back around to smash the human's head. The second was faster than Dejan, he shoved his sword into Dejan's chest, only to have it's point completely stopped by his armor.

"The hell?" Amazement took the better part of discretion for the fight.

"The hell." Dejan agreed, before smashing the warrior's toes. When he fell to the ground screaming, Dejan placed a rather permanent dent into his chest.

Bryce was fencing all of the last three at once. He was smiling as he did it too. They all carried swords and were reasonable skilled, but if elves slept Bryce could have beaten them in his sleep. Once he was sure that they could do no more, he gently tapped one blade point to the side before lunging in past it and in between the two other swords. He stabbed straight into one's neck, before spinning and decapitating another, and finishing his spin by stabbing down on the last in the back with both hands on his handle.

After he retrieved and cleaned his weapons, Dejan surveyed the group around him. There looked to be many merchants on their way to Amityvale for who knows what reason, accompanied by a few guards. There had been quite a few more guards, but most were dead now. Then, however, something surprised him. A young girl walked from behind one of the carts that lined the path and over to Bryce and him. Her sword was bloody, and Dejan guessed that she had killed no less than three of them. She pulled a cloth from a pouch and ran it across her sword and addressed them.

"I thank you for your assistance, vampire slayers. I fear that we may have been overwhelmed had you not interfered and for this we are in your debt. However, I am curious as to what business brings you so close to Amityvale. Has something happened?"

Dejan narrowed his eyes before tapping Bryce on his hip. Bryce bent over and Dejan took his head in his hands. He put his mouth to Bryce's ear and whispered.

"What does she look like?"

Bryce chuckled. "That's my line."

"I'm serious dolt, is she good or bad?"

"Oh, she's an exceptionally good one. So…What does she look like?" Bryce was smiling.

Dejan sighed. "Idiot, she's…Gimme' a sec." Dejan stole a quick look at Serenade. "Really tall, blond, would be good looking if she wasn't so durned tall, got a sword and golden armor. She's a paladin by the looks of her. You happy?"

"Yep. She's good, I'll tell them what happened." Bryce took Dejan's hands off of his head and straightened until he was standing at his full height. He turned his head towards Serenade and smiled. "Yes, something happened some time ago. Some bandits, a few villagers, and two vampire slayers were killed by a vampire. We are here to further investigate the area and to track down the demon if it is at all possible. My friend tells me that you are a paladin, what brings you here?"

Dejan saw the girl stop cleaning her sword for a moment and cast a furtive look at the two slayers. He did not understand anything about it until she herself straightened and addressed them. "My name is Serenade. I am a paladin, and I am returning to my hometown of Amityvale just as I promised. I was there over two months ago when Mike was killed by the vampire."

Bryce and Dejan exchanged glances. They both looked forward to asking this girl in person about just what had happened. This time Dejan spoke first. "Yes, all well and good, but we should get all o' these merchants or whatever they are into the town before dark gets on. Wouldn't want anymore casualties now would we?"

"Right," Serenade hastily agreed. "Well, I'm in charge of the security of this caravan, but since most of our guards are dead now, could the two of you consider staying with us until we reach the town?"

"Sure," They agreed easily.

It took a few more hours to get all of the wagons assembled and lead them all the way to Amityvale, but nothing else happened to slow them down so it was a peaceful few hours. Once they reached the town they found that the townsfolk had been expecting Serenade to come back that day and that they had prepared a town banquet for her. As soon as the gathered townsfolk saw the two of them, however, they immediately surrounded them and began to pester them with questions about the deaths. Dejan was about to start swinging his hammer when the crowd parted to let one man through. Dejan assumed that it must be the mayor, based on his bearing and the others' respect for him. The man surveyed both of the slayers and Serenade before speaking in a bloated voice.

"Welcome back Serenade, and welcome as well slayers. We appreciate E's commitment to our safety. Serenade knows about, and has already accepted our request to hold a feast in her honor. We would be immensely happy if you two would join us as honored guests." His throat seemed to get fatter and larger with every sentence he spoke, but then it finally began to deflate after he was finished speaking.

"Hmmm," Bryce was truly contemplating the offer, but he knew his duties. "We are very thankful to you for your invitation, but I'm afraid that we must start tracking the vampire that attacked your village as soon as possible."

"Hold it lad," Dejan tugged on Bryce's elbow like he did whenever he wanted to interrupt him. "It won't be good to start our hunt so late in the day. We should stay the night and begin early in the morning." His voice was level and his timbre was impeccable, but everyone besides Bryce saw the drool that was creeping over his lips.

Bryce slowly nodded at his friend's sage advice. "Yes, I suppose that this is best. Very well then, we accept your invitation with honor good sir."

The mayor's smile seemed to eclipse the rest of his face. "Great! It's not often that we get such distinguished guests as an elf and a dwarf. Give us an hour and everything will be ready. Also, in the morning, just ask myself for anything, and I'll be happy to help you in any way that I can."

Bryce and Dejan were immediately surrounded again, and before Dejan could bring out his hammer, the two of them were herded to a small house and practically thrown inside it.

"Strange way to greet honored guests." Dejan grumbled as he began to remove his shoes and armor.

"I think that they are just looking for something to obsess over besides the murders. That vampire did do quite a number on this village, after all." Bryce removed his heavy trench coat and large hat before sinking on the bed. They sat in silence for a time, but then they started a small conversation, and in minutes they were arguing.

"No, you see, vampires are the more evil of the two races, They know exactly what they are doing, whereas werewolves have had their personalities warped and altered by the bloodlust inside them." Bryce stated emphatically.

"Bah, but ye're daft." Dejan huffed. "then werewolves're smarter 'an any of you people give them credit for. I even heard two of 'em talkin' once. They know exactly what they're doin', maybe even more than the vamps. That's the problem with you high and mighty races, you always think that the ones under ye' are stupid. Besides, vamps only kill humans 'cuz they need their blood, but them wolves do it fer pleasure."

Bryce sat up and faced Dejan. "No, you're missing the point. Once a human becomes a werewolf, they lose the ability to think rationally and they cannot control their killing instincts. Vampires can control themselves because they have no such instincts."

Dejan suddenly seemed very serious. He was no longer arguing. "Everythin' can control itself lad, those that don't just ain't tryin' hard enough."

"You just do not understand the power of the werewolf infection my friend."

"An' you underestimate the power of a being's will."

The discussion would have continued far longer, and probably would have ended in a duel, but then the doors burst open and the townsfolk rushed into the room. Dejan made a lunge for his hammer, but his legs were too short and he hit the ground several feet away from it. Before he could scramble to it a large group of them grabbed his and held him above their heads as they carried him to the Town Hall. Bryce eyed the rest of the mob and they parted, wisely choosing to let him walk with his own feet.

The Town Square was covered with banners and bright, magic lights. There was a big building right in the middle of it that had been filled with all of the provisions for the feast and it seemed like all of the town was waiting inside of it when they entered. Once they opened the doors the entire group turned to cheer at them before returning to their drinks. The group walked, with Dejan still protesting, up to the front and plopped him down in a highchair. His protests were soon lost as he looked over the small mountain of meat that had been piled in front of him and the oversized jug of beer just within his hand's reach. A large smile spread across his face and he grinned at Bryce. "Knew we chose right."

Bryce sniffed the air for a bit. "This is very bounteous, and we thank you heartily." He sat down of the other side of the large table that dominated the room and was surprised to smell a wide variety of vegetables and fruits. A cook behind him spoke up.

"Yea, we heard that you elves're vegetarians, so we got you some of our best greens. Our head cook is making you some tomato soup as we speak."

Bryce thanked him before settling down to sample the foods in front of him. He could sense the mayor to his right side, and Serenade past him. Bryce thought that this would be a good time to get some information on Serenade.

"So, what exactly are we celebrating here?" Bryce tried to sound enthusiastically curious.

The mayor must have already had his fair share wine. His cheeks were flushed and his large nose was darker than blood. He was very happy to answer any questions Bryce had for him.

"You see, Sera over there became a paladin after Mike was killed. None of us thought that she would make it very far, but in only two months she became more skilled than others who had been there for years. We even heard that, if she has two more years there, they'll have nothing more to teach her." The enthusiasm of the mayor was making his throat expand again.

Bryce would have liked to continue the conversation, but for some reason the murmur of the crowd around him suddenly turned to an uproar. Once his nose caught the bittersweet smell of wine and mead, he knew why. Bryce rolled his eyes in annoyance. He could never comprehend why humans, dwarves, and even some elves became so excited at the thought of imbibing such liquids. He was still brooding over this personal annoyance of his when he heard a thump and knew that someone had placed a rather large cup filled with…he sniffed…mead in front of him. He was about to gratefully decline the drink, when suddenly the entire crowd became quiet. He did not need his eyes to know that they were all looking at him, and he knew exactly what all of them were thinking.

'Can an elf get drunk?' It must have been written all over their faces. Even Dejan noticed the mood and set down a large leg of meat to watch the event. Dejan laughed.

"Yea, he sure as hell can mates, but it takes a bit more than's in that cup. Let me tell you that. Unless, or course, his manhood's feeling a little weak tonight." With a self-satisfied smirk, Dejan took a swig of beer and settled back down to working on his leg.

"Shunted little diminutive troublemaker." Bryce breathed through his teeth. Once that happened he knew that he had no choice but to begin drinking. He took hold of the cup with both of his hands and drained it with one breath. It was larger than he had guessed, and he could feel the fiery liquid course down his throat and settle in his stomach.

Bryce hoped that his feat would have satiated them, but immediately after he polished of his first cup, another of the same size was replaced it. Bryce cursed under his breath, but he was in a determined mood. He grasped onto that one and drained it as well. The second one was filled with wine, and Bryce cursed himself for not checking it. Mixing drinks only got him drunk faster. He tried to deny the third one, but eventually he drank it as well, although it took his two breaths. When the fourth one was placed in front of him he looked at the waiter and smiled.

"Exactly how soon do you want to die?"

A small, high-pitched peep of fear came from the waiter, and he quickly found that someone else required his assistance. Bryce was proud of his denial, but even with it he knew that he was drunk. He hated getting drunk because it made him feel like cloth was stretched over all of his olfactory senses. His sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch were only at a human's level when he was drunk, and that made him uneasy. For now, though, he would have to just enjoy the party and hope that nothing happened.

About halfway through the party, another waiter stood behind Bryce and placed something in front of him. Bryce tried to smell it, but he could not pick up anything. He turned to his waiter.

"Wh-what's this?"

The cook probably smiled. "It's your special tomato soup, I made it especially for you, since we heard that you're vegetarians, elves."

Bryce thanked the cook and realized that he was famished. He had eaten sparingly of the vegetables before his drinking bout, and had had no more since it. He needed to get something into him to help make him sober, and food had always helped. He sniffed the bowl one more time before he tilted the edge to his lips and let the broth flow down his throat. It was thicker than normal tomato soup, which he equated to his weaker sense of touch, but it was somehow surprisingly delicious. He wanted to stop and think about it, to try to realize something that spoke to him from the back of his mind, but he was in no condition to do so at this point. Once he was finished with the soup, he became lost in the revelries and had no more memories of what transpired after that moment.

When Bryce awoke, he was lying face down on the bed that was inside the house that had been given to Dejan and him to use during their stay. He would have slept longer, but he had no shirt on, and had apparently just fallen on the bed, without getting inside. A cold breeze had awakened him, and he slowly got up, favoring his throbbing head. Once he collected his thoughts enough to start calculating what was going on, he noticed that a candle was lit, and that Dejan was sitting on the bad across from Bryce's. Dejan had apparently been awake for awhile, as he was just putting on his armor.

"Ah, decided to get your bloody lazy ass awake have ye'? Good thing too, I was about ta' use my age-old cold water attack to wake you up. Pity, I wonder what I'll do with this bucket." Dejan seemed perfectly fine, even though it was a given that he had drank at least twice as much as Bryce had last night.

Silently cursing Dwarves' extreme resilience to liquor, Bryce stood and began to get dressed. Luckily, there was still plenty of vegetables left from the feast, so at least he ate well. Once he was done Dejan pounded his fist on the table.

"Alright 'leader,' time to shape up, get yer weapons and whatever else ye' need, we got work to do."

Bryce did as he was told and stumbled after Dejan into the early morning mist. The guards who were at the gate let them out without question, and they headed towards the still-obvious burn marks in the grass. Bryce figured that it was at most six in the morning.

"Remind me again what I'm doing out here?" He absentmindedly sifted through burnt grass, as if what he was doing was important.

"WE'RE looking for clues." Dejan wasn't any happier for having to be awake this early than Bryce was.

"Seems pretty straightforward," they followed the arrows embedded into the ground and after that the footprints that lead farther into the woods. "Vampire kills bandits, sells bandits' weapons, kills boy, returns to steal back weapons, kills the store owner and two guards, and makes his escape."

Dejan harrumphed. "Ye're just sayin' that 'cuz ye had too much ta' drink last night. Bloody elf lightweight. Ye' said yerself that it couldn't be that easy. How could the vampire have returned the next night if we have evidence that he headed straight fer those other humans? An' while we're at it, how did that boy fight after getting' stabbed in the back?" They continued to follow the footprints absently.

"Maybe it was the power of love." Bryce's head was still pounding like he had his own personal gong, and he was in no mood to wax philosophical.

"Don't get smart bub, I'm just saying that maybe there were two of 'em. I mean, why would the vampire return to the same shop he sold the bandits' weapons to?"

"Maybe it was to try and see that girl again. Vampires have long been known for their lecherous ways, and she's not exactly the ugliest one in town. Heck, I'd probably fight off a vampire that stabbed me in the back too if I were protecting her. And I've only seen her life-force." Bryce could not tell if he was being sarcastic anymore, and he cared even less.

"Kinda' projecting aren't you? That girl ain't even pretty. She needs a proper beard, and don't get me started on her height." Dejan spat reflexively.

Bryce was about to reply, but then he stopped in his tracks and began to rub his temples. Dejan continued on for a few steps before he realized that Bryce was no longer walking with him. He turned around with a quizzical look on his face. "What's wrong lad? That wine acting up again?"

Bryce screamed in agony as fur began to sprout all over his body and his beautiful elven face was contorted into a ferocious snout. He felt his tailbone break out of his skin and grow into a sweeping tail, and his eyes, which had once been blind, now saw with deadly clarity as the cloth around them burst apart. He screamed again as his muscles burst from his skin and he grew even larger than before as he morphed into the first class form. As his skin formed itself back over his arms, he stared down at the small being in front of him, who had drawn his hammer.

"Aww no lad, I knew there was something strange about that soup." Dejan leapt to the side as Deathfang lunged at him. Deathfang's large claws raked across Dejan's armor, leaving large gashes in them. To his credit, Dejan retained his balance even after being struck, and spun around to smash his silver hammer into Deathfang's back. Deathfang howled in pain, but he used that pain as a catalyst. He spun around and smashed down with one fist. Dejan leapt to the side of this, ran close to Deathfang, and slammed his hammer into his knee. Deathfang roared in pain and collapsed, but unfortunately for Dejan, he fell on top of him. Before Dejan could wriggle his way out, Deathfang rolled himself over and grabbed Dejan with both of his hands. He held Dejan up in the air, his hands almost enclosing the entirety of Dejan's frame. Dejan looked into Deathfang's new, feral eyes.

"Please lad, don't do this." Those were the last words he spoke before his head popped off of his neck and blood spewed from the hole it left. Deathfang popped his knee back into place and began to eat Dejan. It took him a bit to tear his way through Dejan's armor, but once he was through the corpse tasted delicious.

When his meal had ended, Deathfang's first bloodlust, the strongest werewolves ever receive, took full control of him. He turned his bloodshot eyes towards the town of Amityvale. He had a feeling, but for a moment he could not articulate it. Then suddenly he remembered how to speak. The word came out grated and slurred, but it conveyed everything he needed it to.

"More."

As he was about to race towards the town, though, a golden figure blocked his path. Serenade had been following the two of them, and now she was determined to stop this werewolf that had somehow appeared. In one hand she held her standard-issue crossbow and in the other she began to make the sigils for a fire spell. Both of them might have been enough to deal with any normal werewolf, but they were a meager defense against a first class, and she knew it. Deathfang growled, and was about to charge her, when she suddenly grasped the entire situation and gasped.

"Bryce, is that you?"

Deathfang paused. There was something inside him that fought against his instinctive desire to just rip through this insignificant child and devour the entire town. He could not place his claw on it, but he felt the unmistakable feeling of control settling over him. Something was screaming at him to stop, screaming at him to control himself. He screamed back his desire to kill and kill until there was nothing left to kill. It was not like he could control his instinct anyway. He was about to win too, but then, from somewhere in his subconscious, he heard a familiar voice. Dejan's voice.

"Everythin' can control itself lad, those who don't just ain't tryin' hard enough."

Bryce screamed inside his head. 'I don't want to be like this!' Deathfang fell to his knees, his claws digging into his head. He—It wanted to just kill, but Bryce would not let it. Slowly, he pushed Deathfang back with sheer will, making his ferocity stay in a cage within his mind. Once he was done he looked up and saw Serenade looking at him with a very strange expression. She was wondering what was going on. He suddenly found his voice again.

"It's okay Serenade, I'm fine." He was surprised at how low and guttural his voice sounded.

She stared at him for a moment longer, before exploding into noise. "Okay? OKAY? Look at you! You just killed your partner, almost killed me, and were about to murder the entire town. And besides all of that you're a werewolf…How is that okay?!"

Bryce looked back to see Dejan's armor and weapons lying in a puddle of blood and chunks of meat. He desperately wanted to deny that he had done it. He wanted to blame it on Deathfang. Deathfang had done it, not him. Slowly, however, he realized that it had not been Deathfang, it had been him. He had killed and devoured his partner and best friend. With acceptance came determination. There was only one thing left for him to do.

"That cook, and his waiters?" He began.

"That's actually what I came here to tell you two. They all left earlier in the night. They were headed into Darkovia forest. If we move fast enough we might be able to catch them."

Bryce was already searching for the cook's scent. He found it surprisingly easily, and once he did he growled. "Fast huh? Jump on my back."

- 15 -


	7. The First Aftermath

Author's notes. Yea, this one was longer than I had expected it to be, so it took me way longer too. Well, while I'm talking I might as well thank Abstow for always reading and commenting on this. It's helpful and encouraging.

7

The First Aftermath

Damian stopped right before the last bend in the hidden path to check his appearance. His wounds had healed long ago, and he had stitched the tears in his clothing, so he figured that he should be at least passable in the vampire court. He was not very anxious, though, because he figured that the seven werewolf hearts he was bringing with him would offset any offence that he might cause to the honorable council members or to the rulers. Six of the hearts, the ones he had taken from the werewolves that were with Wulf, were for the Patriarch and Matriarch, while one, a class two werewolf that had tried to track him down on his way back to vampire territory, was for a special friend.

After he was sure that he was properly attired, he turned the last bend and immediately ducked as a foot flew over his head. He rolled forward as a spiked boot and a circular blade slammed down behind him and jumped into the air ever so slightly as the blade was thrown at his feet. Once he landed of the flat end of the weapon, Damian turned around to regard to two vampire sentries.

"Good evening Adrian, Brutus. I see that the two of you have not lost your edge yet." He smiled politely. It was always good to be nice to the sentries.

Adrian smiled back and stood to his feet. "Yea, but you usually have a harder time than that Damian. Did you get first class?"

"I did, and let me tell you. It feels great." Damian smiled again before sticking his foot under Brutus' weapon and flipping it back to him.

"Yes, well that is very good for you Damian, but you know that we are in a war that is far larger than you or I. You realize that with the promotion you will undoubtedly be getting, you will be sent to the frontlines, don't you." Brutus was as formal as ever, but he was a decent undead monstrosity.

Damian grinned wryly. "Yes, most of us become squad leaders once we reach second class, but I guess that I was overlooked. Not that I am complaining, my lack of involvement with our military allowed me to become first class quite sooner than I had anticipated. Unfortunately, I will now definitely have to become a squad captain. Oh well, I guess this is just my fortune."

"Beh! Listen to him, griping and moaning because now he's crazy powerful. The tree's already bent. Get out of here bum." Adrian pretended to hate most people who were stronger than he was.

Damian smiled and bade farewell to the two sentries. When he turned around the bend he found Adrian's words to be true. The tree had been left open. He walked over it and then came to the gate of the vampire castle. The guards there were far more formal in their queries, but they let him pass with little more than a cursory interrogation. He smiled as he entered the gate and felt happy to be home again after so long away. He noted that the constellations in the artificial sky had shifted just a bit since he had last been there and that a few new buildings had been built as well.

As he walked down the streets, he was called out to by a few vampires, and returned their greetings in kind. Many smiled at him, and a few even stopped to speak with him for a bit. Yes, this night seemed to be made especially for him. For a moment he almost forgot the fact that he was a vampire and that he was about to be sent to the frontlines of a vicious war.

He was admitted into the main castle, but he had time before the council could see him, so he allowed himself to slowly walk through the halls. He contemplated all of the pieces of artwork, and while he had never had much appreciation for art, vampire art always spoke to him. It may have been because of their themes, or maybe it was because of the amazing clarity the artists exhibited. He had no idea how long he had spent just wandering the labyrinth of halls, but eventually an aide of the council came to fetch him and led him to the council chambers.

Damian was surprised to see that all of the council was in session, but he figured that they must have been deliberating something important this time. Indeed, it seemed like his audience with them was merely a break from what they were working on, and most of them looked very bored. He admitted to himself that he might be reading too much into their expressions. Elder vampire's faces were notoriously hard to read, but maybe that was part of the reason they were on the council in the first place. It took real wisdom to become a council member, but if you were smart, wise, and talented enough, you could join them no matter what your class was.

The Patriarch and Matriarch, on the other hand, were completely different from the shriveled half-corpses that usually held seats in the council. Vladimir, the Patriarch, was young and more handsome than any other vampire Damian had ever met. His black hair shimmered even with barely any lighting, and his face was that of an angel. In addition to all of this, he was also amazingly powerful. In just a few more years than Damian had been a vampire, Vladimir had managed to go from being a fifth class to having power to almost rival Safiria. Almost.

The Matriarch, Safiria was, without a doubt, the strongest vampire in existence. Her magical powers and strength were said to be matched only by her beauty, and it was said that if you receive her kiss, you would die happy no matter what befalls you. She was the true leader of the vampires, but she usually let Vladimir run things as he saw fit. She only rarely made a command or corrected anyone.

Damian walked up to the raised circle in the middle of the room where guests were meant to be. He faced the Patriarch and Matriarch and bowed himself to the floor to pay his deep respects, but he rose again when Vladimir bade him to. After a short pause, Vladimir spoke to him.

"Hunter Damian, we received word that you recently finished the hunt of Wulf, first class werewolf. Make your report."

Damian took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Honored Patriarch, beautiful Matriarch, and the members of the council. I found the first class werewolf Wulf many miles inside werewolf territory. I defeated him in single combat and devoured his heart; as such I am now a first class vampire. Also, he had many lower leveled minions, and I have brought their hearts to you as an offering." Damian quickly pulled out all of the hearts, still bulging with blood, and placed them in a line on the table that was next to the raised circle for this very purpose.

He expected Vladimir to start the formalities, but then he was surprised to hear Safiria speak out from her seat. She turned her head to the side and regarded him. "Little vampire, you do not seriously think that a few hearts of werewolves below first class could even remotely raise our power?" Even her voice was beautiful.

For one moment, Damian had no idea how to answer, he had barely ever seen Safiria in his many years with the vampires, and now he had to speak with her. He quickly went for pluck. "No, beautiful Matriarch, I would never be such a fool as to assume that power as great as yours could be affected by my offering. I am merely giving out of my abundance. I have had my fill, and it is never good for a vampire to drink more than is necessary. Such excess is for those with far more means than I have. Also, I here that werewolf hearts taste particularly good when basted on Darkovia wood over a fire and sampled with blood wine from 1467." He tried to sound as pleasant as possible.

To his immense surprise, Safiria actually giggled, and he was forced to keep tight control over himself to keep his jaw from dropping. She smiled as she took one last jab. "You say that you give these to us, and that you are not given to excess, but there is still one class two heart that you are keeping with you. Are your words villainous? Or do you take us for fools? Do you try to find our favor while still keeping the best of your treasure to yourself?"

Damian could not tell if she was joking, or if he was very close to losing his head. He drew the last heart and his boot knife and held them together. "If you wish, my Matriarch, I would gladly spill this blood on the ground or give it to you. However, I had intended to give this to a friend that I owe a great deal to. I would be greatly in your debt if you would allow me to keep it for that purpose."

"Ah, of course. I seem to have misjudged you Damian first class." Safiria tilted her head to the side and smiled. The moment of danger passed as quickly as it had come, and Damian was allowed to return the heart and his knife. As he did, he noticed that Vladimir was looking at Safiria strangely. In a moment, though, he returned his gaze to Damian and commenced the formalities.

"Very well Damian, you have killed a first class werewolf have you not?" His voice was very formal. Nothing could be read in it.

"Yes, sire, I have." Damian certainly did not want to annoy the second most powerful vampire in existence, so he figured he had better be as placating as possible.

"Good, and in your battle with the werewolf, did you observe the ability that the beasts achieve once they reach their first class?" His voice had softened just slightly, and Damian took this as a good sign.

"I did sire."

"Very good, you may not know this Damian, but we vampires have a different version of this power. Ours is gained quite differently than theirs is, though, and it may take you a very long time to achieve it. Please follow Brilde to begin your training."

"Um, with the greatest respect, honored Patriarch, I believe that I gained this power during my battle with the first class werewolf." Once Damian said this, all of the small conversations that had just started to come up again since Safiria had spoken stopped short once again.

Vladimir gaped at Damian. "Show us this power that you think you have gained."

Damian did not realize what the problem was. He searched inside his mind until he found the switch that had never been there before his fight with Wulf. Once it was switched, he began to feel the change. His wings burst out along with his ram-like horns and he grew in size while his skin became dark and his eyes glowed red. He was glad that his Other form did not break through his clothes like the werewolves' did. It must be hard to constantly replace your clothes.

The council chamber was struck dumb. Many of them, even the first classes, could not use this ability, because the means of obtaining it were very rare. Even those that could use it, though, were astonished. It had taken each of them at least ten years to gain the Other form.

"And you say that you obtained this **before** you defeated the first class?" Vladimir, to his credit, had regained his posture.

"Yes sire." Damian was still in the dark as to what was so different.

"And have you ever encountered a werebat before?"

Damian was puzzled. "A what sir?"

Vladimir returned to exactly how he had been before: formal and cold. "Never mind, very well, you may return to your normal form then."

Damian flicked off the switch and immediately he shifted back to how he had been. He still could not explain how his clothes were intact, but he did not care very much as long as it stayed that way. He was asked to leave and wait outside the chamber for a bit because the council wanted to speak together for a moment. Once he closed the door the entire room exploded into noise. Almost every councilman had something to say about the matter.

"How can this be possible? He's lying!" One elder stood and rapped his cane on the floor.

"Impossible, you know that we have a lie detecting spell in this room." A younger one replied.

"He should be our new general!" One called out.

"No! He should be our champion instead." Answered another

"He's just an upstart."

"An 'upstart' who gained his first class powers a full twenty years before you."

"He doesn't have enough experience." Yelled out another elder.

"Too true." One nodded sagely.

The arguments could have gone on for much longer, but then a large bang interrupted them and Vladimir stood from his seat. All other conversations immediately ceased. He surveyed the large room before he spoke.

"Listen, I care little for this warrior. He will be promoted to squad captain as usual, but nothing more until he has proven himself to be more than an accident. More important is what we were discussing earlier. The werewolves are stepping up their activities in the northern section of the forest and we need more troops to send there. I leave the floor to anyone who wishes to speak about this and only this.

An elder stood and was recognized. He was one of the originals, and he looked like a man in his nineties. When he spoke, however, it was the voice of a man of twenty, which was very disconcerting. "Honored Patriarch, I propose that we send this Damian along with his squad and several other squads to the north. Five or six squads should be enough, and this would be a perfect chance to see just how strong our newest first class is."

A quiet murmur of approval swept across the room. Vladimir thought about this for a moment before answering. "Very well, the proposition seems sound to me. Any objections?" Since there were none the matter was decided and the council went on to another topic.

Meanwhile, Damian had been wandering for a bit more, he walked until he found a barracks near the entrance of the castle and he took a deep breath before he walked into it. Many fifth and forth class vampires were standing around talking, but once they sensed him enter, they stopped and stared at him. It only took a moment before one walked up to him and stood facing him. Damian smiled.

"Hello John." He tried to sound cajoling

The vampire in front of him scowled. "You know that we are not supposed to use our original names here Damian, vampire second—no wait, first class."

"True, and what name did you find yourself?"

"Vincent."

Damian thought for a moment. "That is a good name, a little unoriginal, but it is still a strong one."

Vincent scowled deeper. "I hope that you did not come here to comment on my name Damian."

"Very well then, Vincent. I have brought you a gift. I do not mean it as a bribe. I merely mean it as a 'hey, sorry for killing your sister, stealing your soul, and making you damned for eternity just because I was hungry.' Or at least something like that." Damian was finding it hard to articulate.

For a moment, Vincent just stared at Damian incredulously, but then he laughed sharply. "You really think that there is something you could give me to make me forget that you murdered my sister? I had to bury my own sister because of you! Do you have any idea what it is like to bury your own sister? And I'm not even counting you killing me as a part of this yet. No, Damian, there is nothing you can do to atone for what you have already done."

Damian sighed. "I know that I cannot atone, and believe me that I know how you feel. I also had to bury my little sister, and for that I killed the offender. At the same time, though, there is nothing that you can do to me in your current state. I know that the only reason you came here was to find and kill me, but I am sure that by know you must know the difference in power between us. What I bring you will not only be my first attempt to make you not hate me, but it will also make your lack of a life not as bad."

"And what might that be?" Vincent looked very angry, but still rather curious.

Damian reached behind him and pulled it out. "A second class werewolf heart."

A gasp spread through the room. It usually took many years for a fifth class vampire to get to fourth, and many more for third, but this new vampire was about to become second class in only a few months. Many cast angry glances at him. If he accepted this then he would probably never be able to speak to them.

Vincent stared hard at Damian, then at the heart, and then back at Damian. He hesitated a moment, but then he took the heart from Damian's hand and devoured it, sucking the blood from it before eating the flesh. The increase in strength was immediately apparent as he skipped two levels and went straight to a second class. His muscles immediately bulged for a bit before forming themselves comfortably, and all around him also knew that he was much faster than before. He would not now necessarily gain any more technical skill as a fighter, but he could use his new strength, speed, and also enhanced senses to make himself a better fighter. He had already proven his skill with a sword, though, as he had beaten several fifth classes, some fourth classes, and even one third class in his time training here.

Damian stuck out his hand. "I realize that this is not nearly enough to compensate for what I have done to you, but I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me."

This time Vincent stared even longer at Damian and his outstretched hand, he was obviously battling something inside himself, but then he reached out and grabbed Damian's. "I suppose I could consider it."

They smiled at each other. As they were about to leave the vampire castle, though, the Patriarch's aide found Damian once again and asked him to come back to the council room. He quickly took his leave of Vincent, while asking him to wait where he was, and walked back to the council room. When he entered, there was silence again, and casual disinterest was once again written on all of the council member's faces. Once he reached the raised circle Vladimir addressed him.

"Damian, we are, of course, promoting you to squad captain. You have proven yourself to be more than capable for that position. In addition, however, we will also be sending you to the northern area of Darkovia to battle the increasing threat of werewolves there. You will be leaving within two nights, be sure to be ready by then."

Damian bowed to the Patriarch and made his due obeisance. He had expected this to happen. Even after having been gone for several months, he knew the problems in the north. Still, he had somehow hoped to not be sent there, but he also realized that he had doomed himself to this fate by showing and proclaiming his power. He had never been one to flaunt his own strength, but the secrets of the first class powers were kept secret from all other classes, so he had been caught off guard when Vladimir had told him to learn it.

As he slowly walked out of the room, Damian silently berated himself for showing his power. The council was obviously sending him to the front of the battle as a test of his abilities. If he died, then he was just a strange accident, but if he succeeded, then they would look to him for more. They might even try to promote him to a Unit commander, or something even more dangerous. Damian shook his head and forced those thoughts out of his mind and focused on one thing: Which six other vampires he would bring with him to complete his squad. As a new squad commander, he was allowed to choose any six vampires who were not already in a squad to join him. They had a choice whether to agree or not, but he figured that he could get the six he wanted to join him.

He found Vincent where he had left him just a minute ago and asked him first.

"Vincent, I want you to join the squad of which I recently became the leader."

Vincent was perplexed. "Say what?"

"I just became the leader of a squad and you are the first one I want to join it. We will be headed to the front of the battle between werewolves and vampires, and there is a very large chance that we will all die. Only accept my offer if you are very contented to end your last life." Damian tried to convey exactly what the reality was.

Vincent smiled. "Okay, sounds like misery, hard work, and a high chance of death. What's the catch?"

Damian smiled back. "The catch is that you get to keep any heart you kill, and that each heart you eat will make you stronger. Also, I promise that if we meet a first class werewolf and somehow defeat it, you will be the one to receive its heart."

Vincent thought for a moment. "So, eating a first class heart would basically…"

"Make you my equivalent, yes." Damian agreed.

Vincent stared hard at Damian, as if he were trying to find some hidden motive behind his benevolence, but then he smiled again. "Sure, why not. Although I'll warn you, if I become as powerful as you, I might try to kill you."

Damian chuckled. "I do not doubt that. Anyway, come with me as I try to find the other five that I need."

They exited the castle and headed to the left, zigzagged through a few alleys, and eventually came to a nondescript house. Damian knocked once and, when nothing happened, knocked again. When no one answered he sighed. "I hate when I have to do this." He then proceeded to knock many times at different tempos and with varying strength. Once he finished the door opened itself and Vincent followed Damian inside.

The first thing Vincent noticed was that a strange green smoke was wafting around the stagnant air, the second thing he noticed was that the door closed behind him once he entered the room past it. Besides these two things, though, Vincent could find no reason to justify entering this room. It was a one-room house with no windows and barely any furniture, but even stranger to him was that no one was there.

"What're we doing here?" He asked with a little annoyance.

"Finding Sophitia, the second one." Damian walked over to one of the walls and rapped on it. He shook his head and walked over to the opposite one and rapped on that one as well. He smiled, even though Vincent could hear nothing different in the two, and walked to the left. Once he had walked a predetermined amount he stopped and reached up. To Vincent's amazement his hands disappeared once they passed an invisible line. Damian turned his invisible hands to the left, and in an instant Vincent was not where he was. It was a disconcerting experience, but somehow comfortable. In another moment he was back to being where he was and where he was just happened to be a different location from where he had been before he stopped being where he was. Just thinking about him made him dizzy.

Where he was now was a spacious cavern with a large amount of magical lighting, beautiful furniture, and some beautiful tapestries. In the far corner of the cavern sat a petit blond vampire in a flowing dress. She was reclined on a bent wood chair and was reading some book. Once they arrived she closed the book, causing it to disappear, and looked at them. She frowned and the lights all around the cave lit up. Once she got a good look at the two vampires she smiled and stood.

"Damian, it's always a pleasure to have you visit me in my humble home. Oh, and I see that you have brought a guest with you. Can I reanimate him?" She was rather short, thin, and had a high voice. Her red pupils somehow fit her golden blond hair.

Damian smiled. "Hello Sophitia. Unfortunately, I am here on business, and no, you cannot reanimate this one. Sophitia, this is Vincent." She walked over and shook his hand. Vincent could tell from the strength of her grip that she was relatively weak.

"Fifth class," she reaffirmed for him. "I never did go for that whole powering up thing. Now, Damian, what business could you possibly have with such a low class as myself?" She placed her hands akimbo, just daring him to agree with her.

Damian ignored her challenge. "I recently became a first class, as I am sure that you can tell, and I need to form a squad to go to the north—"

"No." Sophitia looked away.

"I need you as our magical expert. I will be going with six others no matter what you say. If we all die, could you forgive yourself?" She was looking away, so she could not see Damian smile at Vincent.

Sophitia turned back around. "I have spent ten years as a vampire, and in all that time I have sustained myself without the use of werewolf blood, why would I start now?"

"Because you know just how greatly becoming a first or second class would affect your magical abilities. You were strong enough to defeat a class four before you were even a vampire, and I know that you have spent your ten years here increasing your spells." Damian looked sincere.

She looked at him, looked away, and looked back at him. She smiled slowly. "Fine then, I'll join your suicide attempt, but if I die I'll be coming back for you and kill you."

"I would expect nothing less from a Necromancer as powerful as you are." Damian's smiled deepened and in a second the three of them were back outside of the house they had entered.

"Where to now boss?" Sophitia had somehow changed from her dress to the clothing vampires usually wore when traveling. She also had a small pack on a strap around her shoulder.

"Now we get Leon and Rafael." Damian headed towards a side street on the right.

Sophitia followed but scrunched up her face. "Those two vulgar asses? Do we really need them in our group?"

"Yes, we do, they are both class three and work perfectly together. They may be a bit uncouth, but I assure you that there are no two vampires you would ever want to have your back." Damian turned the corner and stopped for a moment before continuing on his route.

"Oh, there's no way I'm letting those two lechers anywhere near my back." Sophitia lengthened her stride to keep up with Damian.

Despite himself, Vincent chuckled a bit at their conversation. He immediately regretted it as Sophitia turned around to coldly regard him while walking. "And that goes for you to mister. Make a move and I can guarantee you your third life will come soon and be very unpleasant."

Vincent shuddered at the thought of being controlled by a necromancer. The rest of the walk was in silence. Vincent was afraid to talk, but even as they walked he derided himself for being afraid of a mere fifth class. They walked until they reached a courtyard and Damian stopped. Vincent once again could not tell what was happening, but then he heard the sound of crashing metal and, and he slid his way around Damian and Sophitia. In the middle of the courtyard, two shirtless vampires were sparring each other. Even as he watched them, Vincent could tell that they were third class, but even then, he wondered if he could beat either of them.

The first one, Rafeal, fought with two curved silver blades, and he was the essence of the attacker. He used both of his weapons in perfect unison to block, attack, or do both at once. He seemed to constantly expose himself to the other's blade while at the same time never allowing it to touch him. As the two battled, he was the one advancing the most. He swung strike after strike and threw in a few kicks just for good measure. He was an immaculate fighter.

The second, Leon, fought with one large, two-handed sword. He seemed to be the complete opposite of the other. He had a perfect defense. Even though he was constantly forced to give ground to the other, he still found a way to block every strike and work his way around him so that he was never forced out of the circle of the courtyard. He never took either of his hands off of the handle of his sword, and he was always either perfectly blocking or perfectly attacking. His blocks were perfect, he kept his hands low, never letting them go above his chest, and let the large blade of his sword take any and all of the other's attacks. He only attacked when he either needed to create space or if there was no chance he would be countered or hit, but when he did he used his entire body to make the strike as hard as he could. He would stomp on the ground with his foot, shift his hips, roll his shoulders, and lastly swing down his arms.

As they battled, Vincent could tell that they were very used to each other's fighting style. Rafael never tried to block the other's strikes, he merely leapt back or shifted to the side as the strike dictated and tried to riposte as fast as possible. Leon never tried to attack with a counter, and Vincent could tell that a counter was exactly what the other wanted. They battled fiercely for a few more minutes, but then Rafael lunged in with his two swords leading as Leon swung down. For a moment it looked like they would impale each other, but then they stopped at the last second. They took their weapons away from each other and bowed. Once their match ended they both turned to Damian, and Vincent saw a long red line rolling down from Rafael's left shoulder and two red lines rolling down Leon's chest. They had remarkable control.

Rafael and Leon put their shirts on, sheathed their weapons, and walked over to Damian and his small party. It was only at this point that Vincent realized that they looked almost identical. They were about as tall as Damian, and if not for their weapons and Sophitia explaining which one owned which, he could not tell them apart. Both of them had brown hair and were of the same height and facial structure.

"They're twins right?" He whispered to Sophitia.

"Yep." She whispered back.

"Well, well, I guess you took down that wolf Damian." Rafael spoke first.

Damian greeted them. "Yes, I did, and so now I am a squad leader. I am getting sent to the north and—"

"Yes." They both answered at the same time.

Damian chuckled. "That was easy."

"You know us," it was Leon this time. "We've been itching to get to the north, but they say that it's so dangerous you need to be in a squad or a unit to be admitted. We've just been waiting for someone to ask. Although I will say that it's good to have you as the leader."

Damian accepted the compliment and started walking off again. "Just two more."

Leon and Rafael fell in line with Sophitia and Vincent. As they walked both Leon and Rafael looked Vincent over and seemed to accept him. After that they reserved their attention for Sophitia.

"You know, you look amazing in leather Sophitia." Rafael might as well have been salivating.

"But they don't flatter you half as well as that dress did. You remember that one dress she wore way back." Leon smiled.

"Oh boy do I."

"Shut up you two, I swear if I have to put up with this for the entire war, I'll just kill you two and control you myself." Sophitia did not even look at them as she walked.

"Oh damn, she hasn't lost any of her spitfire." Rafael almost ran into a wall after they made a turn because he was not paying attention to where he was walking.

"True, now if only we could get her to let out some of it on us." Leon chuckled as Sophitia lifted her chin and walked faster.

"Where are we going now?" Vincent was mainly trying to change the conversation, but he was also rather curious. Damian seemed to be acquainted with the strangest people.

"Two more, first is Lidian. Do not mess with her, she is a second class, and was my equal when I was one as well." Damian sounded like he was smiling.

"Oh hey, she's a nice one isn't she?" Leon nudged Rafael.

"Yep, she's that tall white-haired one with the good legs and the nice bod'." Rafael looked off into the distance of memory.

Leon laughed. "Oh, you mean that one we almost beat?"

"Yep, that's the one, the only second class vampire to beat both of us one at a time besides Damian here. That was when we were fourth class though, so I don't know if it counts." Rafael grabbed his sword handles and looked menacingly at Damian.

"I assure you that if you would like me to show you that it counts, I would be very happy to show you." Damian still sounded like he was smiling.

"Yea, maybe we'll take you up on that." Rafael chuckled and took his hands off of his swords.

"Or maybe he wants to fight us both at once." Leon was still looking at Sophitia.

Damian laughed. "No, never that my friends, never that. Ah, we are here."

They came up to a large, gothic house that looked as if a great artist made it. Damian opened the large metal gate and walked inside the large tall wall that surrounded the residence. The others followed rather cautiously. A short trail of flat stones guided them across a beautiful garden and to the front door of the house. The door was large and made from pure Darkovia wood. It was engraved with many small, mythical creatures and had a knocker. Damian reached up to knock on the door, but before he could grasp it, the door swung open and Lidian stood there in the standard suit with her scimitar in hand. She smiled as they gaped and walked out.

"Yes, I will. You remembered our promise, I'm surprised." She started walking towards the gate.

"I am shocked to think that you would believe me to be so forgetful Lidian." Damian gave the others a grin before he walked after her. The others quickly followed. Vincent turned out to be right behind Lidian, and he realized that what the two brothers had said was true. She was tall; maybe the tallest out of all of them, and had a wonderful body. Her white hair shone in the moonlight. She slowed down and soon they were walking next to each other. He looked up at her face and saw her smiling.

"Hello Vincent. How is second class?"

Her knowledge and friendliness surprised him. "Um, it's good, I feel better than ever I suppose, but how do you know so much about me?"

"I know almost everything that goes on in our society. I just seem to find things out before anyone else does. So, now that you're a second class, that means that you and I share the position of secondary leader. Usually, there is no second leader, but in cases of a first class leader, usually any second classes are selected as secondary captains." They were all walking at a fast pace, but she seemed to take no notice.

Vincent wondered where Damian found all of these people. "Um, great. Listen, what was that about you and Damian having a promise? Do you guys know each other?"

She laughed. "Yes, Damian and myself have been friends for awhile. While we were both second class we were equal in power, and we made a promise that the first one to be promoted would let the other be a secondary leader."

Rafael butted in. "Hey, Damian, who's the last person."

"Hope it's another hot chick." Leon agreed.

"Nope, it is not a woman. The last member we are getting is Othniel."

Both brothers groaned loudly. "That dickweed? He's a worthless ass archer." Leon sniffed.

"Yea, and he's only a fourth class, weak."

Damian paid no heed and just continued walking. Soon they reached the last house, it was a rundown old building connected to many other buildings. They were obviously in the slums of vampire society (if there were any), and the walls had holes in them while the roofs were barely there. Damian knocked on the door, but when the door creaked on its hinges and no one answered, he beckoned the others to get out of the way. They cleared away from the door, and Damian grabbed the handle. He held it for a moment before flinging it open and lunging to the side. No sooner had the door opened then an arrow flew from it and smacked into a wooden pole on the other side of the street.

Vincent wondered what was going on, but he was afraid to look into the door. Damian smiled at him and beckoned for him to look. "Do not worry, he will not shoot again."

Vincent tentatively looked around the door and gasped. The walls of all of the old buildings had been torn down, and now the long line of apartments had become one room hundreds of feet long. At the end of the line of rooms sat a black-haired vampire with a bow in his hands. He yelled out to them.

"That you Damian? Well and here I thought it was someone else. Well, at least I got into that old post right? And that was before you even opened the door."

Damian walked in and started down the long line of rooms. "Yes, you did Othniel. Listen, I just became first class and I need you to join my squad. You are the long-range fighter that I want to keep the rest of us alive. I could also use your sword and dirk while I am at it."

Othniel looked suspicious. "Where are you going?"

"North for a bit." Damian was only two hundred feet away now.

"No." Othniel fit an arrow to his bow and trained it on Damian.

"Now, that is not a very nice way to thank the only vampire to give you a heart." Damian was getting closer.

"That has nothing to do with it. I've killed twenty-five werewolves with my bow here, but you guys who are in the middle of the fighting always take their hearts before I get there." Othniel pulled back on the string.

"You know that I saw your kill, I kept that heart for you did I not?" Damian was only a few rooms away.

Othniel thought about it and shrugged. He put down his bow. "Alright, but that still doesn't mean I'm coming with you."

Damian came up to him. "I promise that we will give every kill you get to you, and we will even give you some that you did not kill."

"Still not coming."

Damian sighed and turned around. "Fine, but I guess I will have to find another archer to be our support along with Sophitia." He had not taken four steps before Othniel's hand clamped onto his shoulder and turned him around. A look of manic was on his face.

"Sophitia's coming? But I thought that she said she would never accept anything like that." He looked strange.

"Well she changed her mind." Damian smiled.

Othniel's eyes narrowed. "Fine, you win Damian. I'll go with you, but I better get those hearts you promised me."

"Of course."

They walked out, and as they did both Rafael and Leon groaned. "You really accepted? Aren't you like the biggest coward on the planet?"

"Yea, that's why he never goes into close-combat."

Othniel completely ignored them and smiled at Sophitia. Before anything else could happen, Damian called to everyone.

"Alright, now everyone is here. I have chosen all of you because I trust each of you with my life. Does everyone here accept the team I have chosen?"

Leon and Rafael grumbled, but in the end everyone was satisfied and they all went to their houses to get ready for departure.

- 16 -


	8. Blood For Blood

8

Blood for Blood

Bryce charged through Darkovia, thoroughly devoted to following the scent the other werewolves left behind. He was close now, so very close, but dawn was coming soon, and running as fast as he could all night was beginning to take a toll on his body. Sweat was pouring down his fur, and his breath was coming ragged through his lungs. Despite his difficulties, he still ran forward with amazing speed. He must have been running faster than even his eagle could fly, and his reflexes were good enough that he could still dodge trees and choose the route best suited for the young girl who was still clinging to his back for dear life. He was impressed by her; she had been holding onto his neck for a long time, while holding her armor and weapons, but she had not let her grip break and never asked for a rest.

He was beginning to think that a rest would be necessary, when he sensed the scents of his quarry grow exponentially, and he knew that they had stopped to take their own respite. All thoughts of stopping left him and he renewed his chase with increased vigor. He was soon rewarded for his determination, when he burst into a clearing and saw five werewolves standing in the middle of it. The werewolf in the middle, who had the smell of the "head cook," grinned when Bryce entered the clearing and stopped in front of them, but his grin faltered a bit when he saw Serenade slide down from his back. He addressed Bryce quizzically.

"I do not understand brother, we had assumed that you would destroy the entire town in your first bloodlust, but you seem to have let one live. Oh well, I guess it is a big town, and your bloodlust must have run out before you killed all of them, but not your lust aye? Very well, I suppose we can have fun with this one."

Bryce was ready to tear this cook's head off, but he controlled himself. He needed to extract what he needed from these ones so that he could enact his plan. He kept his face emotionless. "Yes, I am very sorry for that problem, but I've brought this one as recompense for not killing all of them. I do not understand, though, how you looked like humans last night, are we not werewolves at night?"

The cook smiled. "Only the weak ones, once you gain any amount of control, you will be able to become human in shape any time you see fit. Also, once you become even more in control, you will be turn one part of your body werewolf while keeping the rest of it normal."

He was rambling, which was exactly what Bryce wanted, however, the answer to the question truly interesting to him. He wondered how much control he had, so he tried what the cook said to, and in a minute he had turned back into his elf form, which rendered him strangely blind, then back to his werewolf form and blessed sight. The cook seemed very surprised by Bryce's control over himself, so much so that his feral eyes narrowed. He shifted his head to the side.

"Turn your head to the right please."

"What?" Bryce was taken aback.

"Just do it." A hint of menace entered his voice.

Not wanting to start a fight just yet, Bryce turned his head to the right, regarding the trees. The cook barely reacted, except to point at Bryce. "He didn't kill anyone in his first bloodlust. Kill him and the girl—" the words barely left his mouth before Bryce was right in front of him with his claws inside the cook's stomach cavity. The cook looked at him, his face trembling with pain.

"W—why?" He stammered, blood spewing from his snout.

Bryce brought his teeth very close to the cook's ear. "Because I'm not like you."

The cook lifted his eyes to the moon and laughed out loud. His laugh slowly turned into a howl and in another second he grew to his class one size and shoved Bryce away from him. He watched his stomach re-shape itself and chuckled again. "I knew it, your eyes are blue, which means that you obviously didn't kill after your lust began. Well, the order still stands. Only don't bother with this pup, I'll kill him myself. You focus on the foolish woman he kept with him."

As Bryce and the cook clashed together, the other four werewolves grinned and pulled their various weapons from their sheaths. One had a normal sword, another had a bow (which Serenade found exceedingly strange), the third had a one-handed axe and a rock he had very recently retrieved, and the last one pulled a spear from his back. Serenade was shocked to see the last weapon, but then she grinned. In her opinion, that werewolf had made the greatest mistake possible. She studied the four of them and made her choice. The archer would have to die very quickly if she were to win this fight, so she took out her hand crossbow and pointed it at him. The werewolf sneered and began to put and arrow to its bow. Even from twenty feet away, it could tell that the tip was not silver. She aimed quickly and pulled the trigger, sending the bolt flying towards the werewolf. It merely stuck out its chest, intent on taking the strike and proving its impenetrability, but when she spoke those words from before and the bolt burst into an inferno of flames, the werewolf thought better of his decision. It was too late for him, and the fiery dart buried into his chest, setting him on fire almost instantly. If there was any substance that werewolves feared besides silver, it was fire.

The three other werewolves saw their comrade scream while rolling in the grass before finally giving out and dying and they thought better of savoring this kill. All three ran towards Serenade, but the one with the spear ran a little slower than the others did. She focused on the first two and let her crossbow fall to the ground while drawing her sword from its sheath. The one with the sword ran forward and swung down with both of his hands on his sword, while the other ran to the side. She made her decision and charged the sword werewolf. It was surprised and swung prematurely, which allowed her to block the strike with the blunt of her blade. Even though the werewolf's attack was half-hearted, and Serenade was able to strengthen her block with her forearm on the blunt side of her blade, she was still barely able to stop the strength of the strike it bore down on her. It did stop, though, and when the werewolf took its sword back to strike again she slipped her sword out and sliced open its gut before stabbing it in the chest, slicing off an arm, and finally stabbing it in the head.

The second werewolf fell to the ground, but just as it did Serenade saw the third werewolf cock its arm back and throw the rock it held at her with superhuman force. She had no time to anything except watch the projectile zoom towards her, but before it hit its mark a large hand intercepted it. Bryce let his right arm swing back with the strength of the throw and spun with it before cocking his arm back and launching the rock at its original owner. The stone smashed a hole through the werewolf's chest and broke its spine, lungs, and heart. The werewolf slumped against a tree before it slipped to its knees and fell to the ground. No life was in its eyes.

Serenade breathed a sigh of relief and was about to confront the last werewolf, when suddenly she saw movement to her right and was shocked to see the second werewolf stand back to his feet and place his arm back into its place. It held it there for a second before reaching to pick up its sword with both of its hands. Serenade was amazed, but then she remembered, only silver. She cursed herself for not having thought to bring her silver weapons, but she could not dwell on it very long, because the werewolf was attacking her already. The werewolf was not an especially skilled fighter, but it did have brutal strength and ferocity, and for a bit all she could do was evade its sweeping strikes, but then it became frustrated and switched to using one hand to make its attacks faster. This had the desired effect in that Serenade could not dodge any more, but it also made its attacks weak enough for serenade to block with both of her hands on the handle of her sword. Now, if this werewolf had been any better, this would not have mattered, but as it was, this made a deciding factor. Serenade blocked the first strike given to her and immediately lifted her hands and cut a long gash down the werewolf's chest. It did nothing save to strike again from a different angle. Once again Serenade blocked this and shoved her sword straight into the werewolf's chest. It smiled and lifted its sword to slash down at her, which forced her to rip her sword out and lunge backwards.

Serenade watched both of the wounds she caused almost instantly disappear, and she felt a wave of despair flood over her. How could she fight something invincible? Then, however, she got an idea. She said a quick spell and her sword burst into flames. The werewolf's eyes widened in fear even as Serenade grinned.

Bryce was having a rather hard time with the cook. Both of them were regenerating any wounds the other was causing, and neither of them had any way to defeat the other. Bryce was obviously the better fighter, but he could not gain a definite defeat over his enemy. The cook looked at him and grinned.

"Ready to give up and die?"

"Not remotely." Bryce growled and charged forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Serenade slash through a weak werewolf with her sword on fire and he smiled to himself as the werewolf burned. This young girl really was something. If she could kill three weaker werewolves, then he could definitely kill his opponent. He crouched and charged forward. The cook readied his defense, but he was unprepared for what was to come. When he swung out, Bryce was no longer there, and when he looked down he saw Bryce's normal sized werewolf feet slide between his legs. Before he could turn around Bryce turned back to his first class form and wrapped his large arms around him. The cook laughed again.

"Very good pup. I had not thought you were in control of your powers to this degree. Turning from class one to normal is no small feat. However, we are at an impasse. You cannot kill me, nor can I kill you…" his voice trailed off when he felt drool on his face. He looked up to see Bryce's mouth open.

"Really, I say we test that theory." Bryce clamped his jaws down of the cook's skull and jerked his head from side to side, tearing a large chunk out of it. He swallowed the bite whole before he took another large bite; this one took both of the cooks eyes and half of his mouth. Three more bites and the cook's head was no more. Bryce let him fall to the ground and wiped one furry hand across his jaw. "Let's see you grow that back." He laughed and turned to watch Serenade as she battled the last werewolf.

Serenade had been excited to fight a spear-wielder, but now she knew why this one had trailed the other two. It was a coward. It had hoped that they would finish her off, and now that it had to fight it constantly jabbed out at her in an effort to keep her away from it. She had hoped that it would fight like she knew that vampire would fight, but she found herself somehow disappointed. She had learned how to counter these kinds of fighters, they were easy. At one point it stabbed out too far and Serenade let the blade pass between her and her sword. Before it could retract it, she shifted her entire body into her left arm and snapped the wooden spear with her metal gauntlet. She then grabbed the stock and pulled the startled werewolf towards her, resetting her spell on her sword as she did. The werewolf howled in fear, but it could do nothing to keep her from severing its closest arm.

Serenade watched with satisfaction as the fire began to spread to the rest of the werewolf with unnatural speed, but before the fire got to its head Bryce's large hand slashed down past its body and his long claws sheared its body in half. It fell to the ground, and almost bled to death, but then its healing factor slowly caught up and skin slowly formed along the half of its torso it still had left. It could barely breathe from the pain it was experiencing, but even then it tried to howl for help. Bryce quickly lunged onto it and placed one large hand over its snout, while digging the claws of his other hand into its chest. It mewled in pain, and Bryce stared it in the eye.

"Tell me where the werewolf lair is. I'm a new recruit and I want to go there. Your master was weak, but I'll be strong. You will be allowed to live and become my slave if you comply. Just tell me where it is." Bryce tried to sound cajoling. He knew that many a werewolf had been interrogated to no avail, but he guessed that this cowardly one, with the promise of life and with the reassurance of knowing that he was a werewolf, might tell him.

It stared at him for a moment, but then it lifted its remaining arm and pointed in a direction.

"Thank you." Bryce stood and was about to start walking in that direction when the sun came up over the mountains and he was forced to reassume his elven form. With the loss of his werewolf body, Bryce suddenly felt all the strain of his night's work fall upon him. He took one more step before he passed out.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Bryce awoke he was blind. He did not mind this at all, since he only recently regained his eyes, but it did give him a clue as to what time it was. He assumed that it was still day, but that it was late afternoon. For a bit, he was content to merely lie where he was and listen to the forest around him and stare at the life of the trees. He replayed the scenes of the night before in his mind over again, and while he still felt a harsh stab of agony and guilt for killing Dejan and for almost killing everyone in the village, he also felt as if he could now atone for what he had done. With his guise of a werewolf, he could infiltrate the werewolves and…he paused. And what?

A footstep about twenty feet to the side interrupted his thoughts. He jerked his head to the side, but then he settled back as he smelled Serenade and saw her life and good intentions. Almost immediately, her scent was joined by that of a freshly killed deer. She walked up to him and dropped the deer to the ground.

"About time you woke up. I've been waiting here all day with only these stinking corpses to keep me company. It's a good thing for both of us that I know how to hunt. I just spent all afternoon hunting this deer, and you had better not expect me to skin and cook it too." She was huffy for some reason.

Bryce was about to protest that he was a vegetarian, but then he thought about the earlier night and the concept almost made him laugh. He reached for his hunting knife, but soon realized that he was completely naked. He must have burst through his clothes when he turned to his larger form. Serenade chuckled.

"Yep, you were naked enough to make a maiden blush when the sun came up. Luckily for you I was able to drape my cloak over you. Also lucky for you, the cook took his clothes off before he met us and threw them into the forest. They are in good shape, and they're also the only clothes available."

Bryce was about to move towards where he could smell the cook's clothes, but then Serenade quickly stopped him. "No, that's okay, I'll go and get it for you." She walked over towards them and tossed them towards Bryce before turning away. If Bryce could see at the moment he would have seen her blush.

After Bryce was dressed, he reacquired his weapons from where Serenade had placed them. She explained that she had dropped them before they entered the clearing because she did not want to look suspicious. He then proceeded to skin and gut the deer, sending Serenade out to get certain herbs that he would make it taste better. Once the deer was ready he started a fire and began to roast some steaks. As they ate their venison, Serenade looked up at him and spoke.

"So, what are we going to do now?"

Bryce chewed thoughtfully for a bit. "Now I am going to go to the werewolves' lair and try to atone for my sins."

She stared at him for a bit before cutting off another piece of steak. "You?"

"Yes. This is my burden to bear." Bryce was looking down.

She swallowed. "But you'll die if you go alone."

He stopped eating and looked at her. "First, I just killed my partner, so naturally I'll have to go alone. Second, after what I did, I deserve to die. There is no way I can repay my dead friend for what I did to him except to die in battle avenging his death. Maybe then he'll forgive me. Maybe then I'll forgive myself."

"Well…um…" Serenade looked away. "I could always go with you, you know."

He jerked his head up and regarded her. "You?"

"Well, I've been specifically trained to fight the undead, but vampires and werewolves are pretty much a part of that classification right? And I think I proved that I can handle my own against them last night."

"Those were all very weak. Maybe the weakest possible. They only followed the big one because he was far stronger." Bryce began eating again.

She followed suit, glad that they were past the painful part and into statistics. "But still, I killed all four of those on my own, just think how well I could do next to you."

"You would be better served killing me." Bryce was looking down.

"Well, I can't very well do that now can I? First, I am completely lost and couldn't find my way out of this forest even if I were an immortal. Second, I can see something different about you. It might just be that your eyes are blue when you're a werewolf while theirs are black, but it's more than that too. You didn't kill me back there, even though you obviously had the chance. No other werewolf could have done that." She was getting a little excited.

He shook his head emphatically. "That's nice, but you're ill-prepared to fight werewolves. You barely survived last night, and you cannot expect that flame to last forever can you? Your crossbow only allows for one shot before it is useless, and your other weapons are not silver."

"Aha!" She smiled with glee "I already thought of that. I kept Dejan's bow and his arrows, so I'll just use those instead of my crossbow, and I've trained rather extensively with the spear, so if you're not using it you can give it to me." She was obviously proud of herself.

He cocked an eyebrow. "The spear?"

Her smile faltered. "Yea, you know, a stick with a point in it."

"I know what it is, but that's not a sufficient weapon to fight with. I only use mine for throwing or if I'm part of a defensive maneuver." Bryce was looking very skeptical.

She shook her head in frustration. "You people just aren't paying enough attention to what the spear can really be used for if it is used like a Bo staff instead of a something to skewer a boar with."

"Well, regardless—" Bryce started, but he was cut off by Serenade's indignant response.

"What, you got something against girls or something?" She was tapping her foot.

"No," he looked down again, "it's just that I don't want you getting hurt."

"Why's that?"

"Because…because you were the one who kept me from killing the others. If I lose you I might lose myself again." Bryce would not look up.

She smiled sarcastically. "Well, that's sweet. Look, I really don't care what you say. I'm going to follow you to that lair no matter what you do. You can either accept this fact, or you can deny it and we'll die separately. Which is it?"

Bryce sighed deeply and finally looked up. There was obviously no arguing with this girl. Kids these days. "Fine, fine, but you must promise me that you'll keep to the back and use Dejan's bow. Only use the spear in self-defense okay?"

She might have jumped for joy. "Fair enough. We're partners now right?"

For a moment thoughts of Dejan flooded his mind again, but Bryce suppressed them and shook the hand she had proffered. "Yea, we're partners. At least for now anyway."

She let out another radiant smile. "I guess that'll just have to do for now."

After they finished their meal the moon came out from behind the mountains. Almost immediately, they both started to hear many howls off in the distance. The howls slowly began to grow louder as the wave of them approached their position, and they were startled to hear several howls disturbingly close to them. They were about to find some cover when three werewolves burst from the bushes around them and stalked towards them, surrounding them. Bryce and Serenade where ready for a fight, but before the werewolves could charge them Bryce let out his own howl and transformed into a werewolf. This time, however, he kept enough presence of mind to only turn into his normal form so that he did not break his newest set of clothes.

The other werewolves immediately recognized that Bryce was far stronger than they were, just as he recognized that they were weaker than he was. As one, they backed a step away and kneeled down. The one directly in front of Bryce, the strongest of the three and obviously the one in charge, spoke to Bryce, his voice trembling just a bit.

"Our apologies, we did not suspect you to be a werewolf, sir. We are at your service." He was obviously a male, by his tenor and tone.

Bryce, who had been expecting a fight, was very much surprised by this reaction. He had assumed that all werewolves knew who he was by now, and that he would be considered a renegade. This did not seem to be the case, however, and he resolved to make the most he could out of his small bit of providence. He took a step toward the speaker and addressed him.

"What is your name?"

The werewolf looked up, and Bryce saw something like relief in his eyes. "My name is Snarl, second class; and those with me are Paw, class three; and Claw, class three. What is your name master?"

Once again Bryce was taken aback. He realized that he was powerful in his strongest form, but he must be exceptionally strong if these ones had already accepted him as their master. He was about to answer the question with 'Bryce,' but then he thought better of it. These three had feral names, and he thought that they would find it strange if he did not. He decided to go with the name given him. "Deathfang, I do not know my class."

He noticed that Serenade gave him a quick look of concern when he spoke that other name, but he could always explain it to her later. The werewolf in front of him accepted the name with ambivalence. "Well then, Deathfang, would you like your humble servants to escort you and your slave back to the werewolves' lair. I'm sure that our King would love to see a new werewolf as powerful as you are."

Serenade bristled at being called a slave, but Bryce knew that it was necessary. They would have to expect problems like this, and he was glad that it was not strange for him to have a slave. "Yes, do that."

The three werewolves stood and began walking in the same direction Bryce had been about to go before he passed out, and Bryce and Serenade followed them. The five of them walked for about two hours before they finally reached the werewolf lair. It was nestled at the end of a long crack in the middle of the mountains that surrounded Darkovia, which explained why the vampires had yet to find it. It was extremely well hidden.

As they approached the entrance to the lair, which looked disturbingly like the head of a wolf carved completely out of rock, the three werewolves stopped, knelt, and began to chant. Their chant sounded like some mixture of poetry and rhythmic verse, but it made very little sense to Bryce, who had no idea what they were doing. He was beginning to wonder just what was going on when he was astonished to see the eyes of the stone wolf shoot open. It looked at the party for a moment, and then its entire head moved as it spoke to them.

"Welcome Snarl, class two; Claw, class three; and Paw, class three…And who is this one?"

"Deathfang," Bryce answered.

"Very well, Deathfang, what is your class?"

"First, I believe." Bryce had gathered this from talking with Snarl and the other during their journey here.

"Very well, what was your original name and race?"

"Bryce, I was an elf." Bryce felt better saying his name now.

"Welcome Deathfang, first class. Who is this human with you?"

"My slave, Serenade." It made Bryce very awkward actually saying it himself.

"Give me a drop of her blood."

Bryce took one of his claws and barely pricked Serenade's finger. Her blood pooled inside his claw and he flicked it into the Stone Wolf's open mouth. The wolf was silent for a moment, but then it looked at Serenade. "Serenade."

"Yes?" Serenade wondered why she was being addressed.

"You are not allowed to leave this lair without your owner's explicit permission unless you are with him. If you try to leave without having at least one of these, I will crush you in my mouth. Do you understand?"

"Yes." There was a hint of finality in her words, and she wondered if she was making the right choice after all. It was too late now, however, and she steeled herself for what the future held for her.

"Good, you may all now proceed, and Serenade, you have my sympathy." Stone Wolf stopped talking and opened his mouth until it was the size of a large gate. His tongue splayed out like a carpet, and the five of them walked into his mouth and continued down his throat. It was a disconcerting experience, but Bryce had been through worse, and Serenade was too confused by Stone Wolf's last sentence to really notice. After a bit, the cavern began to look less like a throat and more like a cavern. They continued through a truly confusing labyrinth of caves and tunnels until both of them felt as if they were absolutely lost, but right as they were ready to give up, the group came to a large stone door. Once they came up to it Snarl walked forward and knocked on the door with great power. The sound of his knocking reverberated through all of the caverns they had just passed through and in a moment a small slit appeared in the door and two large eyes peered out of it. The werewolf on the other side of the door barked out a challenge, and Snarl easily answered it. The slit was closed, and in another moment the entire door opened and they were escorted into the underground kingdom of the werewolves.

The kingdom of the werewolves, despite its crude outward appearance and the barbaric reputation of its inhabitants, was a vast and beautiful place carved out of the stone with strength only werewolves possess. The harshness of its architecture only served to accentuate its feral beauty, and Bryce could do nothing but stare. Who could have known that the werewolves were capable of something this…sophisticated? In a moment, he was aware of Snarl and the other two staring at him. He cleared his throat.

"Well, where do we go now?"

Snarl shifted in place for a moment. "Well, with your permission, we would like to take our leave. The King and Queen always make it a point to meet every new werewolf, so if you want to start your life with us out right, you'll have to go and meet them."

Bryce let them go about their business after they gave him directions to the place where the royal couple, who have no other names save King and Queen, resided. As Bryce and Serenade walked through one of the rock streets, it suddenly struck Bryce that there were werewolves just standing and talking to each other, laughing, or wrestling. These creatures were just like anybody else when around each other. This last thought surprised him more than he had thought it would.

'I guess you were right Dejan. Everything can control itself.' He could not help but think of his dead friend at a time like this.

When they finally reached the Royal castle (if it could be called that), they were allowed inside and entered a rather short line of werewolves waiting for an audience. In a few minutes they were escorted into a lavish chamber that further confused Bryce. The room must have served as a kind of council chamber, since there were many seats in a circle around where they were, but for now there were only two people in attendance. The werewolf King and Queen sat on their high thrones and looked down at him. The King looked him over and growled slightly.

"So you're the new werewolf?"

Bryce could not help but bow. "Yes sir."

The King looked like he enjoyed the obeisance, but he still let Bryce up. "How is it that, even though you are a new werewolf, you are a first class?"

"Well sir, I was fed a first class werewolf heart by another first class werewolf while I was still a mortal. It seems that I was instantly transformed into a creature of that power."

"Very well. This other werewolf, what became of him?"

"I killed him, and those with him sir." Bryce did not know why he was telling the truth, but he could not help himself.

"Good." The King smiled.

Bryce was startled. "Sir?"

"He was a renegade, convinced that the town of Amityvale should be destroyed. Speaking of which, did you destroy the town?"

"No sir." Bryce was even more confused by the King's reaction.

"Very good, not very many werewolves can deny themselves their first bloodlust, but those who do are bound for greatness. Besides, we really do not need the attention such an act would undoubtedly bring on our heads." The King smiled.

Bryce felt much better after hearing that, but he also wondered about his self-purposed mission. "Of course sir."

If there was anything connotative in his voice, the King did not notice it. "Well, now that we're established in that respect, you probably want some kind of lodging for you and your slave. After that you should probably find someone who can teach you about our customs and mannerisms. Well, since you did rid us of a nuisance, and since you are now one of our highest class of warriors, I believe that we can find you both of these. Normally, you'd have to carve your own house of the rock, but we recently had death in our ranks, so you can take his home."

"Thank you sir."

"Right, and about your slave, do not worry. We have many slaves here, and it is strictly against our laws to harm or even touch each other's slaves with expressed permission from the slaves' owner. You may believe that we are a pack of mindless beasts, but we have our laws, and punishment for breaking our laws is death. We may not be able to stop every crime, but we make sure that the perpetrator of the crime is severely punished. The only ones above the law are my wife and myself." The King nodded to the Queen, who smiled back at him. "Anyway, you must be tired. Here, Lupine will escort you to your new home, and once you reach it she'll instruct you on our customs and whatever else you wish to know so that you may appear respectable before us when you return three days from now for your official meeting with us. Farewell until then."

"Farewell your majesty, and your majesty as well. I thank the both of you for the great honors you have bestowed upon me." Bryce bowed to both of them. The King smiled, while the Queen acknowledged him with a curt nod. Then Bryce felt a clawed hand on his shoulder and he turned around to see another werewolf (presumably Lupine), who bade him to follow her in a feminine voice. Bryce never would have guessed that she was a female, since there really are no distinguishing features on werewolves, if not for her speaking to him first. He wondered if that was going to be the only way he could tell what gender those around him were. 'That would be a pain.'

Bryce and Linda followed Lupine out of the castle and through the streets once again. They wound through them for a bit before finally coming to a large structure near the outskirts of the lair. When they entered Bryce noticed that the house was remarkably well carved and luxurious. He wondered who had owned this house before he did, and how such a being had met its end. At the front of the house a small brass plaque had born the inscription "Wulf," and so Bryce figured that must be the one who had owned this. He was about comment on this to Lupine, but when he turned around he saw that she was completely naked and in her human form. She noted his surprise and laughed.

"That's right, you really do not know any of our customs do you? In the werewolf society, we don't really wear clothes unless we're going out, and even then rarely. It's considered bad manners to appear in public in human form, but it's also bad manners to enter someone else's home in werewolf form or to entertain visitors in werewolf form. Well, while I'm explaining things to you, I guess I'll mention some other rules. The only was to rise in rank is to kill a werewolf of higher rank. We have thousands of warriors, so it doesn't really matter if one dies. However, you must formally challenge that werewolf in front of witnesses and fight fairly. If you kill another werewolf dishonorably then your life is forfeit, no matter how strong you are. We do not tolerate cowardice, and subterfuge is a tactic to be used only against vampires. Any questions?"

Bryce thought for a bit, and he did have one that he had wondered about for a very long time. "Why are the werewolves and vampires fighting?"

She smiled and took a seat. Bryce shifted to his elven form and sat down as well, thankful for still having his clothes. "Get straight to the point huh? Well I was hoping you'd ask this, but the telling might take me awhile. You'd best get comfortable, and your slave too."

- 13 -


	9. A History of Blood

9

A History of Blood

"Now let's see, where to begin… Well I guess the most obvious place to start would be that one time. Before I begin though, I should tell you that I was not alive at the time of these happenings, but I did get the events in question from someone who was alive then, so you can pretty much take my word for it. Alrighty then. A long time ago, at least one hundred years ago by my reckoning, a vampire named Lucifer, who is widely regarded as the originator of their bloodline, and a few other vampires raided an ancient castle just outside of Darkovia forest and stole a princess named Christine from it. It is said that Lucifer had been lusting after the princess ever since she was born, but that he had decided to wait until she was matured before he came for her. All of the inhabitants of the castle, and also the surrounding country, had loved Christine, so they had tried to find Lucifer and kill him, but when they did they were easily beaten back by the vampires around him. After their crushing defeat, most of them gave up, but two of her three brothers, Galstryx and Edward, swore that they would never rest until they had saved their sister.

"Edward was the younger of the two, he was barely fifteen at the time of his sister's capture, but he was widely regarded as the best fighter in the nation. He resolved that the vampires must have a weakness and that he would kill them one by one until they were all dead. He disappeared into the forest and was not seen for a very long time. The oldest brother, Galstryx, was not a warrior, but he was also renowned in his own way. At the age of thirty he was considered to be hundreds of years ahead of his time in science. He decided that the only way to defeat the vampires was to find a way to be better than they were. He hid himself in his room for several years, and in the course of his time there he analyzed all of the properties that made vampires special: their strength, speed, blood-driven regenerative capabilities, how they can make others their own kind, and even their Other form. He soon deduced that the only way he could defeat Lucifer and his demonic race of followers was to find a formula powerful enough to transform him into something more powerful than they were in every way.

"It took him many years to find the formula, but like I said, he was a genius. Eventually he discovered it and he rashly decided to try it on himself. As you can probably imagine, the result was to turn him into a werewolf. You see, we are superior to vampires in every way. We are stronger, faster, we do not need to feed to regenerate, others are made werewolves whether we want them to or not, our first class form comes to us immediately upon reaching a certain amount of power, and we have no weaknesses to the sun, holy water, or crucifixes. Unfortunately, Galstryx forgot to compensate for just how much strain his transformation would place on his mind. He went insane, and in his madness he finished the job Lucifer started and slaughtered every human in his castle and country. That insanity has been our bane for all these years. Most of us lose a fair amount of our intelligence in the first Bloodlust, and even those who don't tend to lost technical skill when fighting. These small faults are what have kept us from defeating the vampires. Their technical skill will always be better than ours will, and they are extremely levelheaded.

"On a side note, a few of us have been able to deny the first Bloodlust, and some of those are still able to deny the feral beast within us when we fight. Those that can are without a doubt our deadliest fighters, and few vampires can stand against them.

"Well, anyway, so in a few minutes, every single human in the castle and surrounding countryside that had been killed by Galstryx was resurrected as a werewolf and followed him into the forest of Darkovia with one mind. That's another way we are superior to vampires. They have to consciously make a human a vampire, and they only bestow that gift on those they think are worthy, but we will make anyone a werewolf. Even if they die in the process, they will come back to life unless their head is severed from their body or their heart is ripped out. While I'm at this I guess I'll tell you a bit of trivia, there was a third brother, but he was about five or six at the time of Galstryx's rampage and no one knows what happened to him. We assume that his head must have been crushed or something, 'cause he is not a werewolf now.

"Man, I'm really getting side-tracked. So, while Galstryx and his army charged towards Lucifer and his nation, Edward returned from trying to fight his way to Lucifer. He had fought for a very long time, with many vampires falling to his blade, and many more knowing and fearing his name, but in the end he was not able to battle his way to Lucifer, so he decided to return to the castle with his extensive knowledge of the Vampire anatomy and weaknesses. He had meant to train others so that he could return later, but when he returned he discovered that everyone he had known was dead. At that moment Edward vowed to kill all evil vampires and werewolves, and to make this come about he changed his name and started a school to train others to kill vampires and werewolves."

"E." Bryce muttered under his breath.

Lupine was oblivious. "Meanwhile, Galstryx had been waging a war against the vampires with his army unlike anything Lore had ever seen. The vampires were woefully unprepared for what lay in store for them. They had been around for countless years before this incident, and they had had no serious challenges to their power for over a century. In the absence of any real war, they had turned to infighting. They had become tired with slowly increasing their power by eating the blood of lesser mortals and had begun a vicious faction war that centered on devouring each other for more strength. They had also forbade any of their kind from recruiting any new members because they had become greedy and paranoid. Their style of advancing was like how ours is now, a duel to the death was required to advance in rank, except that while we can afford the loss, they absolutely could not.

"So basically, Galstryx caught the vampires at their worst moment, but the few hundred of them that were left had become very powerful from killing all of the weaker ones. The battles were fierce, but victory for Galstryx and our perfect race was inevitable. They tore through the Vampires' ranks, despite taking heavy losses of their own, and stormed the Vampire Castle. After they raided through all of the halls and tunnels, they finally reached the highest room in the castle, and when they burst through the door they found Lucifer and all of the strongest vampires left alive. If the earlier battles were fierce, this one was legendary. The werewolves must have outnumbered the vampires one hundred to one, but these were the oldest, craftiest, and strongest vampires left alive, and they had nowhere else to run. The fighting continued for hours, with both sides slaughtering each other with bloody revelry, but towards the end it seemed that, with their age-honed skills and desperation, the vampires would come out as the victors.

Then, however, Galstryx found Lucifer and immediately attacked him. They fought for many minutes, but eventually Galstryx rammed into Lucifer and they both fell to the ground. Lucifer somehow came out of top, but when he tried to stab Galstryx, his sword was no longer in his hand. Galstryx rolled him over and finally…Say, all this talking is parching my throat. Could I maybe get a cup of water?"

Bryce let out a sigh, he was very engrossed in the story, but as he was about to get up he smiled mischievously and nodded to Serenade. "Find her some water, slave."

He did not need eyes to see her scowl as she stood and went into another room. She quickly returned with a clay cup and some water that had been kept in a bucket. When Lupine finished her drink, she cleared her throat and started up again. "So, anyway, they grappled for a bit, but eventually Galstryx proved the stronger of the two and ripped out Lucifer's heart. As he devoured the heart, it looked like the vampires would certainly be destroyed. Here was the strongest being in the forest becoming even stronger by eating the heart of the second strongest. However, once again Galstryx miscalculated just how powerful he could handle. The surge of power intoxicated him, and he was powerless to resist his own sister Christine, now known as Safiria, when she cut out his heart with a silver sword and devoured it, gaining both his power and Lucifer's. She was just as overtaken as Galstryx had been, but with the destruction of their originator and leader, the werewolves reverted to mere animals and fled in all directions. Ever since then, for reasons no one knows, silver has retarded our regeneration abilities.

"It took us several years before we regained our senses and began a real resistance against the vampires, but at the end of the war there was only about ten vampires left besides Safiria, and they were forced to go far abroad on missions from her to quickly bolster their troops. So in the end, we found this lair, which hasn't been discovered yet, and they found some way to disguise the location of their castle. The vampires changed their political structure, we found ours, and we've been fighting an equal battle since then. Except for the Werepyre Wars, after those we were united in a treaty for a bit, but eventually they betrayed us and we fell to fighting again. Well, I'm thoroughly tired, so unless you have no other questions or problems, I'll be leaving."

Bryce took a moment to gather all of the information. E had never told them the history behind the war; he had merely told them that he was determined to kill all evil. "Oh, thank you very much Lupine. I've been very well educated today."

"No problem, if you really want to learn more, you can enroll in my history class." She headed towards the door and shifted to her werewolf form. "Oh, and don't forget to appear before the royal couple in three days."

Bryce had forgotten about that. "Oh yea, what's that for anyway?"

"So that you can be stationed, obviously."

Bryce did not like where this conversation was going. "In what?"

She turned back. "Why, in the werewolf army of course. You are a first class after all. What did you expect?" She left and closed the door behind her. Bryce and Serenade looked at each other with mortified expressions. Eventually Bryce spoke what both of them were thinking. "I can't join the army!"

- 4 -


	10. As Sheep to Slaughter

10

As Sheep to Slaughter

Weeks later, Damian ran noiselessly through the forest. He felt edgy, because he was in the werewolves' territory, but knowing where each person in his squad was and what their status was comforted him. Vincent was a little behind him and to his left, Leon and Raphael were to his right, Sophitia and Othniel were behind him, and Lidian was scouting far ahead of the main group. He could sense that all of them shared his feelings of unease. It was almost night, and so soon the werewolves would awaken and begin to hunt for food. Once that happened they would almost certainly be found and would have to retreat, for while none of them made any noise, werewolves had been training their noses to sense vampires for years, and it was said that they could literally smell a vampire a mile away. They had several herbs to hide their smell and combat this, but those would last thirty minutes at most, and once they wore off the attacks would begin.

For now, though, it was still many minutes until sundown and they had somehow managed to go farther into this portion of territory than any scouting squad before them had. There was guarantee that they would find anything, but this was one of the many spots of which the vampires had almost no knowledge of and no maps for, so they were a little excited and anxious. They were running during the day because they wanted the edge given to them by there being no werewolves, but they had to be very careful. All of them wore combat gear, which covered every inch of their bodies save for their feet, hands, and head; and their boots, gloves, and wide hats finished their outfits so that almost no skin was showing. They barely needed to bother, though, because the trees in this part of Darkovia were so tall and dense that light could only be seen in intervals of about thirty or fifty feet. Even though none of them spoke, Sophitia had set up a mind link between them, so they were able to communicate telepathically.

'Do you think that we're near anything important?' thought Vincent.

'Doubtful,' Damian replied. 'We are probably not even in the right area to find something, but we have still gone farther than any before us have, so we would be served to look as hard as we can.'

'Right,' Lidian agreed. 'Besides, if we can't find it, at least we can find where it's not.'

Othniel was not so optimistic. 'I don't like this, we went to the camp back in vampire territory, but we were there for like two minutes before the captain there sent us on this mission. Doesn't that seem strange to you? I mean, who gets sent on a mission the moment they arrive?'

'Please Pussy, they obviously just heard about us before and knew we were coming. He was just testing us. Get a freakin' backbone.' Leon laughed in his head.

Raphael laughed as well. 'Ya, why did the vampires ever accept someone as weak-ass as you.'

'Shut up you two,' Sophitia glared at the two of them. 'I think that he's raising a good point. Why would they send us out on a mission when we barely got there? I don't think that captain even asked our names, and if you two are too stupid to notice thing like that, then either shut up or I'll cut you out of this conversation.'

Raphael feigned hurt. "Oh girl, I guess gunpowder does come in small barrels. Man firecrackers like you make life worth living. I dunno' though, it sure sounds like you're just trying to protect Pussy over there.'

'Hmmm, I'll bet she likes him, I hear girls always go for the weak emotional ones.' Leon smirked.

It cannot be understated just how close Sophitia was to giving both of them epileptic seizures, but then Lidian's mind cut through. 'Everyone be quiet. It's almost nighttime and—'

Her thoughts were drowned by countless howls and cries that seemed to be coming from everywhere around them. Many were disturbingly close, but eventually they all quieted. Once they finally ended Lidian started again. 'Damian, I think I found something. Head North-West until you see something that looks like a giant werewolf's head—' No sooner had she finished the word than her mind suddenly went blank and she left the conversation.

'Lidian? Lidian!? Everyone head North-West!' Damian yelled out and began running. The others quickly followed and Sophitia dropped the mind link so that they could give all of their attention to the task at hand. They had only been running at full speed for a few minutes when they burst from the forest and came upon a narrow slit in a cliff. From where they were, they could see a large stone werewolf's head at the end of the small crack, but even more pressing for them, they saw Lidian lying on the ground surrounded by fifteen werewolves. Two or three were kneeling next to her, and as they ran at them Damian saw a flash as a knife was drawn.

"Position A," Damian said in a low voice. He said it loud enough that those with him could hear him, and also the werewolves, but quietly enough that none others could. "Except Othniel and Sophitia. You two stay where you are and kill as many as you can."

Othniel and Sophitia nodded. They knew their roles. Then, as all of the werewolves turned to regard the group headed towards them, the rest of them charged towards the werewolves. Once again, they ran very quietly, but loud enough to let the werewolves know what they meant to do. Damian's plan worked; the werewolves turned as one from Lidian and drew their weapons. Had this been a major vampire invasion, the werewolves would have signaled an alarm, but since it was only four vampires charging and two holding back, they were not worried. They were also rather quiet, since they knew that seven vampire hearts would not split equally between them and they did not want to share them with anyone else.

Some pulled out swords or axes, while others placed their hands on the ground and growled. Their muscles clenched and suddenly bulged, and their claws lengthened, not to the extent of a class one, but still larger than they had been before. Those that went Feral lost almost all reason and started charging, making the others follow as well. Damian sighed in relief. He had expected them to not sound the alarm, and had been counting on it, but he still knew that fifteen to six were not very favorable odds.

Before any of the normal werewolves took a step forward, one fell silently to the ground with an arrow in its eye. Within seconds another was blown back into the side of the cliff by a black bolt of lightning and convulsed before finally falling as well. The first two deaths added urgency to the other werewolves, and they now ran towards the vampires. Before the sides met two more were dead.

Position A is a rather popular maneuver in vampire tactics; it involves the entire group forming a large V pattern, with the strongest fighter at the point and the two second strongest on the ends. The idea is that the squad will slice through the enemy instead of allowing the two sides to meet parallel to each other, which favors the werewolves. However, since Lidian was down they had an even number of warriors, so they had to make an imperfect triangle with Damian and Vincent in front and Leon and Raphael on the ends. The two sides met with a loud clang of metal meeting metal, since the seven werewolves with weapons had charged them, and the four feral werewolves left had charged after Othniel and Sophitia.

Damian quickly ducked under horizontal swing by a third class and shoved his spear up inside its ribcage, piercing its heart. Vincent, instead of waiting for his opponent, jabbed out at the werewolf, a second class. The second class slapped his sword down with the flat of its own blade, and as his sword went through its knees it pulled its sword across its body and sliced out at him. Vincent was able to swing his shield up, but as the sword met it he felt his hand go numb from the shock of the blow. Raphael was fighting two fifth classes; his sword swam in and around theirs as he laughed. These were no challenge for him. He defeated ones attack while opening up the throat of another. The living werewolf threw a low attack at him, which he blocked with one sword, and slashed a line across its chest with his other. The werewolf stared at him for a moment, until he lifted both swords and stabbed them through its eyes.

Leon was having far more trouble with his, which was a class two. It fought with a one-handed sword, but it was still able to match strength with his two-handed sword and style. It swung at him, and he placed the flat of his blade on his body, swinging all of his being into his block, which stopped the attack. Before he could counter or move back, though, the werewolf let its sword arm get thrown back by the force of the block and lunged forward, punching him in the face. The fierce blow sent him backwards, which temporarily destroyed the triangle. The werewolf tasted the blood on its fist and its eyes burned redder than they had before. It threw down it sword and turned Feral before charging after Leon on all fours. Leon leapt up from the ground and jumped to the side as the werewolf landed where he had been, rolled twice, and finally came back to his feet and grabbed at his sword. He turned around just in time to see the werewolf leap at him again and he had only seconds to react, so he shoved his sword into the ground and knelt down behind it, having his entire body support it. The werewolf was in the air, so it had no way to change its direction, but it did not care.

The werewolf slammed into the flat of the blade, with its chest. Such an impact would have taken the breath away from a lesser creature, but this one barely seemed to notice. It pulled its arms back and tried to latch onto Leon, but he rolled back and placed his feet on the bottom on his sword. The sword came up from the ground under the werewolf, and the force of Leon's roll sent the werewolf over him, making it land on its back a few feet away from him. It quickly leapt to its feet, but then it was forced to lunge back as Leon slashed at it. He did not return to his defensive stance as he would normally have attempted, but he kept swinging, using the back swing of each attack as a fold for the next one. The werewolf was forced back and, as it felt that it was beginning to lose momentum, growled fiercely while its eyes shone bright red again. Leon swung horizontally, but it leapt over his swing and landed behind him, he spun around with another sweeping strike, but it wasn't in his range. It had leapt back before he even turned, and now he was over extended and it leapt for him.

It seemed that there was nothing Leon could do to avoid his fate, his sword was past his center, and the momentum of his strike would carry it past him, but then he slammed his foot into the ground and stopped his sword's movement completely. He shifted to the side and spun away from the werewolf, turning the spin to a swinging strike. The werewolf was still amazed at Leon's feat, but it was also a second class. It saw the sword spin towards its torso and at the last second it lifted its feet and caught the edge of the sword on its claws, flicking its toes and forcing itself over the sword with the two of them barely making contact. It sailed past Leon and his sword sailed under it. It knew that it would hit the ground, dodge his next attack, and drink his blood. It never saw Leon suddenly stop his sword in mid-swing once again and swing back. He sliced through its torso and it was too paralyzed to land properly. It flopped on the ground and the shoved his sword into its back with a grin.

"Shouldn't have given up you intelligence for strength."

Meanwhile, the four Feral werewolves charged Othniel and Sophitia because they seemed the weakest of the group. One fell in mid-lope and rolled before sprawling on the ground. It never saw the arrow enter between its ribs and pierce its heart. Another was almost close enough to pounce, but a skeletal hand burst from the ground and latched onto its hind-leg and it fumbled and fell to the ground as well. It turned to attack the hand, but then another burst from the ground and grabbed one of its forearms. Another hand grabbed its other leg, and more and more hands burst from the ground and latched onto it until in the end it was pinned to the ground. One last hand wrapped itself around its snout so that it could not bark or growl.

Sophitia grinned at her handiwork, but then her face morphed to one of fear as she saw another werewolf launch itself through the air at her. Even as she started to dodge, she knew that she could not get away in time. Othniel saw her predicament and spent valuable time pivoting and releasing the arrow he had held in his taught bowstring. The arrow launched through the air and buried itself in the werewolf's neck. He realized what this action had cost him, though, when he turned to see the last werewolf far too close to him to shoot. He cursed, dropped his bow, and pulled his sword and dirk out even though he doubted it would do him any good. He was a good sword fighter, but this was a second class, so he knew that he, a fourth class, had almost no chance. The werewolf did not bother leaping, it just ran at him, intent on ripping him to shreds, but then it stiffened, and whimpered as the tip of Damian's spear came out of its mouth like a new tongue. Othniel had to move to dodge the werewolf, but he quickly ran back and cut off its head just to make sure it was dead. He gave a sigh of relief and nodded gratefully towards Damian before going to help Sophitia with the last werewolf that was still pinned to the ground.

Vincent was still battling the second class, and both of them seemed evenly matched, with neither of them being able to gain the advantage over the other. They continued to exchange blows as fast as they could from only a couple of feet away. Vincent tried as hard as he could and managed to fight on the same level as the second class, which amazed him, but he knew that time was something none of them could afford to waste. He realized that traditional attacks would not work in this fight, so when the second class swung down, instead of blocking it with his shield he knelt down on one knee and tried to block it with his blade tilted upwards.

The tilt of his blade took most of the strength from the werewolf's attack and sent it to the side. The sword slid down Vincent's blade until it reached his hand guard, and that was when he felt its strength. His arm buckled under the power and the werewolf's sword continued until it slashed into his right shoulder. Vincent grunted in pain, but then he swiftly stood up and shot his left up as hard and fast as he could, not as a block, but as an attack. The edge of his shield slammed into the werewolf's jaw with a crack, and several smaller cracks abounded as many teeth left their rightful foundations. Vincent took advantage of the werewolf's pain and swiftly brought his sword, which was also silver, up as well. His sword opened up the werewolf's stomach cavity and then he slashed once more and cut the werewolf in half.

Even before his opponent's upper half hit the ground, Damian decapitated another werewolf with his sword. Now there was only one werewolf, and it was a fifth class. It stared at all of those around it and finally realized its situation. Before anyone could stop it, it turned and ran away, howling at the top of its lungs. It tried to go back to the lair, but as it ran it failed to notice the figure at its feet until Lidian's scimitar sliced out its voice box and buried itself into its chest.

Despite the silencing of the werewolf, it was far too late. The howl had been heard by every werewolf within several miles and certainly by all of those in the lair. In seconds a cacophony of howls echoed across the hills and the woods. Damian and his squad looked at each other and quickly went about gathering the hearts of the fallen. Once the hearts were either devoured or saved, they ran off in the direction of the vampire border with renewed vigor.

Inside the lair, Bryce had been walking in the caverns when he heard the howl. He instinctively knew what it meant and he quickly morphed into his first class form. He was grateful he had not worn any clothes this time, but that he had had the presence of mind to keep his new great sword and small sword with him. As he ran towards the twisting caves that led to the entrance, he knew that he was the first to answer the call. That call, the call of intruders.

"This should be fun." He chuckled to himself.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Bryce burst from Stone Wolf's mouth and looked around, when he could not see or hear anyone, he turned back to Stone Wolf.

"What happened here Stone?"

"It was quite spectacular, about seven vampires just found me and killed some fifteen werewolves before running away when the last werewolf sounded the alarm. This is more fun than I've had in a long time, and now there's fifteen less werewolves on this earth." Stone Wolf sounded rather happy, but that was unsurprising to Bryce, who had spent awhile talking with it and had figured out that no love was lost between it and his race.

Bryce chuckled slightly at Stone Wolf's bluntness. "Would you mind telling me where the vampires went off to?"

"Yes."

"Alright then, thanks for the help." Bryce tried to sound cheerful as he rolled his eyes and guessed which way they went. He gave his best estimate and immediately started sprinting in that direction. He knew that, if he had chosen correctly, he would catch up to them soon. There was just no way a vampire could outrun a werewolf, let alone a first class. He just hoped that he had made the correct choice.

In a few moments, catching the faintest scent of vampire vindicated his decision. When he had been an elf, he had trained himself to search out vampires and werewolves with his nose, and since becoming a werewolf his senses had been expended to an even greater degree. He could tell that the vampires had taken measures to hide their scent, but they must have done it swiftly, because he could tell exactly where they were. He growled and crashed through the foliage as he increased his pace. He grinned to himself once again, now there was no hope for them. They would be sighted and subsequently hunted down, attacked, and slaughtered. He might have felt sorry for them if they were humans, but as it was he knew what they were, and all he felt for them was the cold appreciation of the hunter for the hunted.

He was getting close now, so close that he could almost see them. He was thankful that the wind was heading towards him, since it was allowing him to become far closer than he normally would have been able to. Even with this, though, he was still only able to get them within sight before they noticed him. He could tell that they knew he was behind them by their quickened pace and erratic movements, so he growled and stopped trying to be subtle. He quickened his pace and bashed a small tree out of his way.

None of the vampires said anything, but Bryce got the impression that they were communicating, he could not understand why, but something in their movements indicated it. Without warning, the front six abruptly split and began running in different directions, while the one in back stopped, turned, and drew a scimitar from her sheath. It was apparent that she was his deterrent, but Bryce was not interested in catching one, he wanted them all. He tried to run past her, but right as he did she spun and sliced out the back of his right knee. His tendons separated, and for a moment Bryce lost all control of his right leg and crashed into the ground. He lay there for a moment, but in seconds his tendons re-knit themselves and he leapt to his feet just in time to dodge her finishing blow.

Bryce realized that this vampire was too powerful to be ignored, and that he would have to face and defeat her before catching the others. As he paced her, he realized that he had been foolish in his urgency. Now that he had all of their scents, he could easily hunt each of them down later, after he had killed this one. This fight would be interesting; it was the first time he had fought a second class vampire.

The vampire was playing a delaying game; she was not trying to attack him. Bryce had to initiate combat, so he jabbed out with his left hand. She ducked under the strike and sliced above her, cutting across his wrist. Blood flowed from his arm, but he ignored the minimal pain and kicked out with his right leg. She stepped to the inside and stabbed behind her back, placing a hole in his calf, before disengaging her scimitar and stepping forward to slice at his stomach. He would have tried to dodge, but at this point he did not care. The scimitar sliced along his stomach, and at the last second she twisted sharply and sent it up his ribcage.

He respected her style; the curve of the scimitar allowed her to slice and cut without worrying about getting her weapon caught on bones or clothes. Unfortunately, the way she fought with it would not cause him any serious injuries with his healing factor. Even now his wrist had closed up, and the blood in his calf was already clotting. He swiftly cocked his left arm under his shoulder and threw out an uppercut. She was prepared for the retaliation, and leapt back, but she was not prepared for his other hand that he had placed behind her. He grabbed on to her back and dug his claws into her. She did not scream with pain, but he saw her face contort as he lifted her into the air and slammed her into the ground. He lifted her up again and smashed her into the ground a second time, a rock caught in her face and he saw blood squirt onto the ground. Without hesitating, he brought her up again and smashed her down, then again. After the fifth slam she sagged in his grip, and he could feel his claws penetrating her lungs. She stopped moving, and he turned his hand over to see her face. Her eyes were closed and she was like a rag doll. It was amazing that she was still holding her scimitar.

Bryce brought her up to him to look at her. She was bloody all over, and her once-beautiful face was full of contusions and split open with wounds. He was about to discard her when he eyes suddenly flew open and she lifted her scimitar with both hands. The blade was facing down, with the curve facing away from him. She was too close, and her sword was right above his heart. Before Bryce could do anything she yelled and stabbed down with her scimitar. Bryce saw it head for his chest, and he knew that he would die. Then something strange happened, Lidian's scimitar was one inch too close to her, and the tip of it landed just outside of his collarbone, causing the rest of the blade to merely slice his collarbone, and not to penetrate into his heart. The scimitar came down in front of his body, and she looked at him in despair as her weapon slid almost harmlessly off of him. He grinned before punching her in the face once more, throwing her to the side, and running after the rest of the vampires.

Lidian lay where she had landed for a few minutes. Despite her last attack, the werewolf had completely beaten her, and it had done it easily. She could not move a single muscle in her body, and she knew that she was dying. There was nothing she could do for her friends anymore, except for one thing. She reached into her mind and retrieved that one spell they had taught her. Her mouth quivered and trembled as she tried to pronounce the words once but failed, she steeled herself and pronounced it right the second time. Her mind transported to a spot a hundred miles away where a ten-foot tall human and another, shorter, human. She stood in front of them in her mind, and they recognized her.

"Lidian?" The tall one asked, incredulously.

"Triplecorpse Hammerblow, Jacques." Memories flowed over her, but that was all she was able to say through her spell before Paw and Claw found her and cut off her head. The two of them looked at each other.

"Wanna' just split the heart?" Paw offered.

Claw sighed. "I guess that'd be best. I'd hate to hafta' kill ya'."

"Yea, it's the same over here." They cut out her heart, sliced it in half, and devoured it with relish. They underwent a change, but neither of them were second classes now.

Meanwhile, the two humans stared at each other. Then the tall one picked up his gigantic hammer and put another slab of chewing tobacco into his mouth, and the smaller one began chanting a spell while collecting knives. Once he was done a portal appeared in front of them, and without a word they stepped into it. Lidian's work was done.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Damian ran in the forest to that place all of them had agreed to meet at. He knew that Lidian was probably already dead, and the knowledge filled him with grief. She had been one of his few friends, and now she was giving up her own life in an effort to save his. Unfortunately, his sorrow was tempered by his knowledge that both he and also all of his other friends might soon die as well. As much as it pained him, he would have to mourn her death later. She had done her part, though he had wanted to stay behind, and those still alive would be able to meet in the agreed position soon. Damian had been running slower just in case she had won, but now he forced himself to speed up his gait. With each step he felt as if he were leaving her behind, which was not far from the truth. He had to abandon her, though, because the vampires had to be informed of the whereabouts of the werewolf lair, otherwise all of their deaths would be in vain.

"I will never forget you Lidian," He whispered to the night sky. "Not even when I am dead."

Still, even with her sacrifice, it seemed like the situation was untenable. Howls emanated from every side, and even more came from behind him. More werewolves had heard the warning howl, heard the previous howls, or caught their scents; and they were beginning the chase.

'Just a little longer.' He was almost there; he just hoped that the others would be there as well. He ran until he saw the large rock and stopped at it. For a moment, he was afraid because none of the others were there, but then he saw them begin to appear. In a few moments all six of them were there, and all of them were aware that Lidian was probably dead by now. Damian was about to order them all to start running, but then he realized that the howls were now coming from every direction. There was nowhere to run to, and they would soon be hunted down and slaughtered. He did not wait for Sophitia to set up the mind link before he started ordering.

"Sophitia, I need to warp as far away from here as you can and take as many of us with you as possible. Can you handle that?" Damian was panting.

Sophitia, now a third class, did not hesitate. "Of course, but I can only take one person with me, any more and either I or one of them might die."

Leon and Raphael, both second classes since Vincent had given his to Raphael, immediately said that they would not leave the other.

"It wouldn't be right, leaving my brother die." Raphael stated firmly.

"Yea, if one of us dies today, both of us do. Much as I'd like to hold on to Sophitia and be alone with her for a few nights." Leon winked.

"Well, I won't leave. I can't have anyone killing you besides me Damian." Vincent tried to smile, but he looked too scared.

Damian smiled at them. "I feel the same. I cannot run after leading you all into this. It would be better to die with you than to bring the news without you."

They all inevitably stared at Othniel, who was also a second class now. His eyes narrowed. "Oh no, I'm not running after those two jerks called me a pussy so many times. I'll stay and fight with you guys."

Damian sighed. "We cannot let any of us die without cause Othniel. We have all decided to stay, and I need you to assure that Sophitia is safe."

"Yea, it's not your fault you're a pussy, pussy." Leon smiled.

Raphael chimed in as well. "You just run along and let us do the fighting for you."

These comments just made Othniel want to stay even more, but he was eventually persuaded that it was his duty to go with Sophitia. He smiled wryly. "Just don't die, okay guys?"

"You can count on us."

Sophitia walked up to Othniel. "Hold on to me." When he did she turned to the west and looked upwards before intoning a spell and ending with. "West, towards vampire territory." Almost before the last syllable left her mouth, the two of them were gone.

Damian, Vincent, Leon, and Raphael stood together for a moment, almost as if they were waiting for the werewolves to come. Then Damian turned to the others.

"We will fight back to back. If one of us is slain, we will form a triangle, and if another is killed the last two will fight back to back as well. Are we clear?"

"Yep."

"Crystal."

"Sure."

"And I am sorry that I got you three mixed up in this." Damian frowned.

Vincent laughed. "Hey, it won't be the first time you've killed me."

Despite himself, Damian smiled.

When the werewolves came, they gathered around the four of them in a circle, completely surrounding them and cutting off any chance of escape. Strangely, they did not attack at once; it seemed like they were waiting for something. Then they realized that there were no first classes around to order them to attack, and they were feeling indecisive. Then out of their ranks came the werewolf that had presumably killed Lidian. Damian felt his blood chill just by looking at him. The werewolf walked halfway between the vampires and his brethren before addressing Damian.

"Hail vampires, I am Deathfang, first class werewolf in the King's service. I am giving you this one chance to surrender. If you do not, then you will all be killed, as I can imagine you can guess by now. What do you say?" His voice evidenced that he was a male.

Damian stared at the werewolf for a moment. "What happened to our companion?"

The werewolf faltered. "What?"

"What happened to Lidian." Despite himself, Damian's voice quivered.

The werewolf looked down for a moment. "She is dead."

Damian kept his face passive, but inside he felt as if a blanket settled over him. He had given up Lidian for dead once she decided to stay behind, but now that he knew her fate, he realized that he had kept believing she could somehow get away. A feeling he had not experienced in a long time swept over him as he addressed the werewolf who had killed his closest friend. "I thank you for your offer, Deathfang. I am Damian, first class vampire in the Matriarch's service. I am afraid that I must decline your proposal, and I dearly hope to meet you on the battlefield."

Deathfang almost seemed to sigh. "So be it. You have signed your own fate. Kill them." The entire werewolf force surged forward, they had been waiting for those two words. There were hundreds of them here, and there was no hope for Damian or any of the others. As they charged, Damian turned to the other three.

"Remember, form a triangle and do not leave it for any reason. Protect each other."

"What about you?" Vincent could not believe he was conversing while hundreds of werewolves were about to attack him.

"I will be hunting." Damian found that switch in his mind and flicked it on. In seconds he was in his Other form, with his large wings folding behind him, his tail slapping to the ground, and his horns growing out just a few more inches than last time. He stared at Deathfang and names came unbidden to his lips just once more. "Kyrion, Nicole, Helen." He whispered them and then, after a pause, "Lidian." His eyes narrowed and for a moment he only saw the werewolf in front of him.

The werewolves were almost upon them when Damian crouched low and burst towards them, using his wings to propel him forwards. He surprised them and knocked many out of his way in his single-minded quest for Deathfang. The werewolves were all unprepared for his aggressiveness, and many never got back up from his blows. However, Deathfang was no fool, and he was ready for him by the time he reached him. Deathfang swung his arm out in a sucker punch just as Damian got into range, but Damian was just barely able to shift his wings up and send himself under the blow. He landed and gave all of his strength into a swift uppercut that slammed into Deathfang's stomach and sent him into the air for a moment. Deathfang jumped to the side of Damian's next punch and pulled his body back to throw a devastating punch of his own. He grinned when he felt his knuckles connect with Damian's face, but as Damian's body turned with his head, he spun low and swept Deathfang's feet from under him with his right leg. Deathfang managed to flip around and land on his hands and knees, but that placed him in the perfect position for Damian, who had come directly up after the sweep, to kick him as hard as he could in the chest. This time Deathfang could not control himself when he went up, and he landed on his back.

Within seconds Damian was on top of Deathfang, his legs locked around Deathfang's ribs and he began to rain blows upon his face. Deathfang raised both of his arms and blocked most of the attacks, but some got through, and Deathfang knew that it could not stay in this position. Eventually it accepted a viscous punch to the side of the face in order to punch out at Damian's chest. The strength of his punch picked Damian off of him, and then he tucked both of his feet under him and launched him upwards. Damian went into the air, but he used this to his advantage and began flapping his wings in preparation for a final blow.

Deathfang saw his opportunity here, and he bent down before launching himself into the air after Damian. Damian was obviously surprised, and he was powerless to dodge Deathfang's head butt. The blow hit him in the stomach, and Deathfang felt the air leaving him. Damian began to fall towards the ground, but Deathfang was not satisfied. He grabbed Damian by the shoulder and began to punch and kick him as hard as he could, Damian was not content to take these attacks, and threw out as many of his own as he could, not regarding blocking. Both of them fell towards the ground while throwing everything they could at the other. When they were close to the ground, Deathfang threw one last punch and then tried to disengage, but when he jumped away he felt Damian grab his tail. In another moment he was twirling through the air and then he slammed into the ground. Damian landed on him with his knees, but Deathfang swung his arm around in a backhanded blow and sent Damian off of him.

The two of them stood, and it was hard to tell which was the worse for the fight between them, but Deathfang was not satisfied with the fight, he was just now starting to heal from the first hits he took. 'Somehow, I don't think this will get me anywhere. I never was a brawler.'

Damian cast a quick glance at Vincent and the brothers and, after verifying that they were alive, he sent himself back at Deathfang. When Deathfang saw him, he swiftly reverted to his normal werewolf form. Damian saw this and stopped for a moment; long enough for Deathfang to call to him.

"Damian, I cast of my first class form, do the same and let us fight as beings were meant to. This fight should be decided by skill, not ferocity."

Damian walked up to him and shifted to his normal form. He almost smiled at the werewolf standing before him. As usual, his clothing and weapons were where they were before he had changed, and Deathfang marveled at this.

"By-the-way, my name is Bryce, and I am very sorry for your friend. War is necessary, not pleasurable." Bryce explained as he took his normal-sized sword from his back.

"My name is the same as before, and I realize this." Damian trembled a bit as he took his spear from his back. He wondered what was wrong with this werewolf. Why was he telling him his real name and trying to console him? He could not tell what he felt at the moment, so he silenced his thoughts and focused his mind on the cold sensation the shaft of his spear sent through his hands. There was not time to think; he needed to only react.

Damian and Bryce stood about ten feet away from each other. They did not move; they only regarded the other. Bryce's eyes narrowed as he saw Damian's stance with a spear. He wondered what was going through Damian's head, and why he had chosen such a strange weapon. Bryce knew how those with spears fought, and he knew that they were easily countered unless they were in large groups. All he had to do was dodge the stabs until he was close enough to be past the blade. Once inside the tip's range, it was child's play to kill the owner of the weapon. The challenge lay in not getting impaled by the spear, but Bryce had been fighting for centuries. He figured that this fight would be short, but also very dangerous.

Damian stared at Bryce, and despite himself he felt thoughts slowly creep into his head. What if he did not win? Unlike Bryce, his healing factor only worked if he ingested blood, so if he were stabbed, he would probably lose this fight. Thankfully, his Other form seemed to be completely disengaged from his normal self, so he felt none of the blows he had received previously. He was worried about Bryce's weapon. It was a completely normal looking, double-edged sword, which made it all the more intimidating. By the time a warrior reached first class, they had usually found some exotic weapon to master that they thought made them unique. The fact that this powerful warrior had kept a normal sword made him seem more dangerous than if he had taken out any other weapon. He had no idea what to expect from his opponent, but he knew that this fight would be hard.

Bryce was glad that he had his eyes for this fight. He wondered if he could win without them, but then he cast that thought aside as useless. He had been given a gift in his new eyes, and only a fool does not use a gift. He wondered if he was just kidding himself, or if he really felt this way, but then, with more difficulty, he thrust that thought aside as well. He needed to focus on the fight.

Bryce moved first; he took two steps forward before lunging in, causing Damian to thrust out with his spear, and then stopping mid-lunge and leaping back. He paused, it was just as he had imagined, Damian was going to fight with his spear. Bryce lunged in again before shifting to the side as Damian stabbed out and trying to lunge a third time, Damian retracted his spear faster than Bryce had anticipated and attacked once more in the same manner as before, causing Bryce to step back as usual. Despite having failed three times in his attacks, Bryce reasonably sure that he knew Damian's style, and he was ready for the real fight to start.

Bryce lifted his front foot and stamped it on the ground while at the same time he shifted his body forward, giving the illusion that he was beginning a charge. As he had expected, Damian took the bait for a moment and shot his spear out. By the time Damian realized his mistake, it was too late. Bryce had no backward movement to compensate for, so he charged past the tip of Damian's spear faster than seemed possible. Damian tried to retract his blade, but he was too slow. In seconds Bryce was in front of him, leading with a jab that sent his sword flying towards Damian. Bryce knew spear users; they were too focused on their weapons. When cornered they would attack at anything; they were reactionary fighters. Once their only method of defense was bypassed, they lost all sense and folded. This fight was over.

Then Damian was no longer in front of him. For a split second, Bryce's senses did not even register the change, but an instant later he looked down; the only place for him to be. His instincts led him true, and he saw Damian curved on the ground. It took him another moment to realize what was happening, but then he jumped back when Damian's feet shot into the air. He recovered from the leap, and lunged back in at Damian, who was still doing a handstand. Bryce's sword flashed out in an arc, but Damian finished his move with a handspring and barely made it over the blade. He rolled and recovered his spear from where he dropped it on the ground before settling back into his old stance.

Bryce was surprised. 'That makes no sense, that stunt will only work once. The next time I will be waiting for it and I'll kill him. He must realize this.' Nonetheless, he resumed his stance as well. He also knew that his fake would not work as well the second time as it did the first, so he was also at a disadvantage. They were close now, just close enough for anything to happen, and both of them knew it. Bryce shifted forward and stepped. Damian did not move. Bryce spun to the side and tried to stab in. Damian turned and shot his spear at him. Neither attack hit its mark. Bryce faked again, with no reaction. Then again, with the same result. Finally he ran in completely and brought his sword back for a slash, but as Damian stabbed out with his spear, Bryce spun to the side and stepped forward.

He was not far closer than he had been, but he was now closer than Damian could retract his spear, and Bryce knew it. He charged in as fast as he could, watching everything he could to make sure that Damian did not dodge and focusing all of his attention on the swing of his sword. He was so close, but just as he swung, the impossible happened, Damian's spear was right there. He had faked that last thrust, and he no longer held his spear like a spear user, now it was like a stick. Damian ducked under the swing and, as Bryce swung downwards as he had decided to do if Damian ducked, he rolled to the side before coming up and twirling his spear above his head and lashing out with the blade. Bryce ducked his head quickly and dodged the blow before stabbing forward with a quick searching jab. Damian shifted his body to the side and gave his spear to the closest arm, stabbing it at Bryce's head again. Again Bryce ducked his head, and then he twisted his sword from where it was, which was still right next to Damian's body, and slashed out towards him. Damian was forced to throw himself back. Once again they were close to each other, only now Bryce saw that Damian's stance was not only defensive, reactionary. It was also offensive.

Damian was still unnerved with how easily Bryce had read him, and he could only be glad that he had not shown his style until after the beginning of the fight. He had a healthy respect for Bryce now, and he knew that he could not be the defender in this fight. This time it was his turn to attack. He took three slow steps back before running forward as fast as he could. Bryce readied his defense, but right as Damian reached him he spun around and swept his spear low. Bryce jumped over this and used his height to lift up his sword with both hands and slam it down. Damian rolled to the side, and the strike would have stuck into the earth, but Bryce stopped it and ran after Damian, his sword led him. Damian, who was unbalanced, had no other option save to shift his spear to the side and shove Bryce's sword out of the way. There was a sharp clang as metal met metal for the first time. Neither of them could understand why, but this was significant, and Damian cursed himself for being the first one to have to block a strike. He felt like he had somehow lost the first stage of their battle.

Bryce shoved Damian's spear to the side and stabbed straight at his chest. Damian took a step back and spun his spear in his hands, knocking the sword to the side once again. They were both on their feet now, and now they paced each other. Bryce stepped in and launched a wide arc straight at Damian's side, and Damian stuck his spear out vertically and blocked the strike before shifting his weight into the block and kicking out. His feet caught Bryce in the chest, but he only went back a couple of feet. Bryce growled and charged again. Damian was tired of blocking and charged as well. Damian shot out his spear with one hand at twisted his body to give it full extension, but Bryce shifted his body to the side and charged through, his sword grazed Damian's side. Damian pulled his spear back and placed the side of his neck to its shaft, shoving the spear towards Bryce. The spear smacked into Bryce's side and bruised his ribs.

Bryce quickly turned around and stabbed out countless times as fast and hard as he could. He attacked so fast that his first strike had barely landed before another was thrown out. His sword could barely be seen as he stabbed out over and over again. Damian spun his spear around over and over again with his hands in the middle of it. Each time he would spin the spear in one direction until it hit Bryce's sword, and then he would switch directions until he blocked the next. Bryce bore forward and Damian took steps backwards, all the while spinning his spear back and forth as he sighted and stopped each oncoming attack. Then one moment he stomped the ground with one foot, spun his spear over his head, and smacked at Bryce with the back end of it. Bryce blocked this, but no sooner was it blocked then Damian spun the spear around his head and sent the blade towards Bryce's stomach while taking a step forward. Bryce took a step back and blocked this with the flat of his blade as well. Now it was Damian's turn to advance and Bryce's to go back, and Damian made the best of it. He spun the spear around and around and even spun himself a few times in his effort to overcome Bryce's defense, but Bryce proved as good at defending as he was at attacking. Not a single attack made it through. As he attacked, Damian could not stop the thoughts from coming again.

'What if I die? What will happen to the others? This is impossible! Even if I win, we will all still die. Just like Lidian, just like my family. We will all die.'

Finally, Damian lost momentum, and Bryce was sick of this. He was annoyed of having to fight his opponent to a standstill, he was angry with himself for not ending this sooner, but mostly he was angry that he could not beat a spear user. He channeled his anger into one attack, and he timed it when Damian was throwing an attack with his blunt side. Damian's spear struck his in the ribs again, but Bryce barely felt it as he lifted his sword into the air and slammed it down on Damian, who was too close to dodge. Damian saw the attack coming and was forced to kneel just so that he could create enough room to block the strike with his spear held out horizontally with both of his hands above his head. As the two weapons met, Damian was thankful for having a metal spear shaft.

The sword and spear both reverberated with the strength of the attack, and Damian's entire body trembled as he took the shock of the strike. Bryce was not nearly as affected, since his sword's handle took most of the damage away from him. He lifted his sword and slammed it down again, and again Damian shook from the force. Then he attacked again, and again, and again. He bagan grunting with each strike, thowing all of his strength into each downward chop. As Damian knelt there, he realized the hopelessness of his situation, he was on his knees, he only had one method of defense, and his defense hurt him more than the attack hurt the enemy. His arms felt close to buckling, and he knew that he could not take any more. He would die here, in this forest, and this werewolf with two names would take his heart and devour it. He would never achieve anything else. He would never find out what the cross that had been his sister's meant, he would never live to see if he could find his old master. He would die here.

The last thought reverberated in his mind with almost as much force as Bryce's blows. As Damian though about it, he found that he did not care if he died right now, he was already dead, but if he was going to die, he might as well win this fight before doing it. Even as his body shook from another vicious strike, his mind formed one thought that morphed from his subconscious to his thoughts and finally out of his mouth. "I will not lose!"

Bryce lifted his sword up for another strike, but when he brought it down, he noticed a slight shift from Damian. Too late, Bryce saw him take his fingers from his spear's shaft so that only his palms were touching it. Once the two weapons met, Damian shifted his spear to the side, and Bryce's sword slid down it harmlessly, passing by Damian's hands that were no longer threatened. In another moment all Bryce saw was Damian grab his spear again and continue his swing to slam the spear into his face. The blade of the spear cut across Bryce's forehead, and in a moment blood spilled inside his eyes, blinding him. He ran his arm across his eyes and looked up to see Damian's spear inches away from his face. Damian was standing above him, and his spear was cocked back like a pool player to deliver the final blow. Bryce looked Damian in his eyes, and could not discern what he saw there. If Bryce were in the humorous mood, he would have laughed at the fact that his new eyes had defeated him, if he had not taken them, he could have continued fighting. As it was he tried to discern what Damian would do. One thing was certain for him, however, and that was that he was about to die.

Then Damian sighed, put down his spear, and kicked Bryce in the chest. As Bryce fell back he saw countless werewolves flow over Damian and also the other vampires who were still fighting back to back. Apparently a large number of werewolves had stopped fighting to watch the two of them fight. The vampires were quickly beaten down, and their weapons were taken from them. They were all restrained, and they were about to have their hearts ripped out when Bryce stood up. He morphed into his first class form and bellowed out.

"You will not kill these vampires. They are now prisoners of the King, and no harm is to be done to them." His wounds had healed, and he looked as if nothing had ever happened to him. "Any werewolf that does not comply will be immediately ripped to shreds. His powerful visage and carriage cowed the werewolves, and none of them killed the vampires. Bryce walked up to where Damian was being held by five werewolves and lifted his face to him.

"Why didn't you kill me, even after knowing that I killed your friend?" Bryce's guttural voice shook a bit.

Damian spit blood from his mouth to the ground. He stared at Bryce for a moment. "I just thought that, since I was going to die here no matter who won our match, it would be a shame to have to kill a blue-eyed werewolf with two names before I died. I guess you just seem different, Bryce." Damian smiled at him until a second class werewolf punched him in the jaw and knocked him unconscious. Bryce growled at the werewolf, but did not stop the same treatment when it was administered to the other vampires as well.

"Take them to the King." Bryce called out and became the head of a procession of hundreds of werewolves as they all headed back to the werewolf lair.

- 17 -


	11. Uncivilised

Goodness, well this one took awhile to come out… Yea, I've been lazy lately. Anywho, not that it really matters, but while reading this I totally realized that Othniel's theme song is (or should be) The Bird and The Worm by The Used. It just kinda' fits him well. I've never thought about stuff like this before, but if I think of one for someone else I'll inform you. Also, it's awesome that people are reading this (especially Abstow), so if you are reading this and you like the story, why not shoot me a comment and tell me so, just so I'll know if I'm doing this whole thing well or not. Thanks .

11

Uncivilized

One moment Othniel was standing amidst his comrades, wondering if he should insist on staying one last time and listening to the werewolves getting ever nearer. He had his arms around Sophitia, and he felt happy about that, but he also felt a burning in him to fight and die alongside Damian and the others. All of his life, even before he was Turned, he had been branded a coward; granted, he had done many things to make those around him call him that, but he had also done things to fight against it. Ever since he had been a human, he had been working on his marksmanship, and the bow had always been his specialty, but he had also worked on his bladework for years. He usually stayed back at the back of the fighting, but he also looked out for others when shooting.

It galled him to always be called a coward, and it angered him even more when he knew that he deserved it. He wanted this moment. He wanted it to prove to those two brothers, to Sophitia, and to Damian that he was not a coward; even more than that, though, he wanted to prove to himself that he would stay and fight when there was no hope for survival. He wanted to show himself that he was not a coward. In the end, though, and to his shame, he let his grip tighten and failed to utter a word as Sophitia finished her spell and they were gone.

In the next moment, Othniel was still attached to Sophitia, but he was in a part of the forest he did not recognize. As soon as he released Sophitia, he felt a wave of grief and self-maligning anger flow over him, quickly followed by a wave of nausea. He turned and stumbled to a tree before retching onto it. No foods or water came from his stomach since he had not eaten anything in years, only acid and spit. He leaned against the tree and welcomed the stinging in his throat and mouth. However weak it was, it still gave him some comfort to know that he felt some pain.

'They're right about me, I'm nothing but a stupid, cowardly woman. I could have stayed with them. I should have stayed with them. I could be fighting with them right now. We could be side-by-side, working in unison and fending of death. But no! I have to be the one they send away; the one they think that they're doing a favor by letting live. I hate myself. I let my desire to live get the best of me. I'm just like they said!'

He berated and cursed himself, calling to mind all of the worst curses he could think of and screaming them at himself. He wanted to feel like dirt, to malign and attack himself so that he could forget just how much he hated himself at that moment for abandoning his allies.

His little tirade could have—and probably would have—continued for far longer, but eventually Sophitia walked up to him and stood beside him. He was still bent and resting on the tree, looking at the puddle of vomit that was pooling below him, but he turned to her and looked into her eyes. She smiled before shifting back and slamming her closed fist into his face. He fell onto the ground on his back and swiftly grabbed at his nose. Thankfully, it was not broken. Sophitia stared down at him, and he could have crawled under a rock and died just because of the look in her eyes.

"Alright, I apologize for the nausea, that's just a by-product from warping, and one of us had to take it all. I just felt that, since you were the extra weight, you should take pain. But seriously, what the hell? What's all this "I'm a worm" bull? We all chose you to go, and I don't care if you didn't want to. I'm still just a third class, and there's no way I'm going to go all the way back to our destination on my own. If you're a coward, you should have told us that sooner, not right when it is just the two of us, and I swear to you, if you leave me to die when we get attacked, I'll come back and kill you myself."

As she spoke, Othniel wondered how she knew, but then he cursed silently again. The mindlink between them was still up.

She jerked her head quickly. "Yea, you're damn right. Now I don't care if you're a woman like they say, but if you're quite done, we have an important job to do. I'm not going to slow down for you, so you'd better be ready now."

It was at that moment, staring up at the short vampire, that Othniel realized that he had never been more scared of a person in the entirety of both of his lives. He wondered just how much of a fool he had been in front of her, and he felt ashamed as he stood up. "Yea, I'm ready." He almost whispered his response.

"Good," He could have sworn he saw fire in her eyes as she strode away from him, "Now we're going this way, come on."

She started running and he quickly followed. He ran almost next to her, but just to her right and a little behind her. Without realizing why, he felt like even she was superior to him at that moment. She had a backbone, she had taken command, she was fine with running. He felt ashamed that she was more of a man than he was. He-

"Didn't I just say to stop thinking those weird things?" Sophitia spoke in rhythm with her every running step.

He could have smacked himself in the head if he had not been so focused on running. "You know, that mindlink thing you've got there is rather annoying, would you mind cutting it off?"

She gave a chuckle. "Oh, now you're talking like nothing ever happened huh? Just want to pass off that little inner monologue you had there as never having taken place?"

Othniel made a face he hoped she could not see. "Well, that whole thing was just a moment of weakness caused by the warping I think." He also hoped she could not tell he was lying.

"Liar."

'Damn it!'

"Fine, so I've got problems, it's not like everyone's perfect right?"

Another chuckle. "True, but not everyone's a coward either."

"Guh, whatever, so what's the plan?"

"Well, we're going to run west until I find out just what happened at the battle, and then I'll tell you from there." She looked forward as she ran, never looking at him.

Othniel blinked. "Woah, woah, woah. Who made you the boss of this team?" He did not care if he had just asked what they would do; this situation just made him uncomfortable.

This time she looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Not who, what. First, you're obviously a self-proclaimed coward. Second, I know more than you do about this situation. Third, Damian said that you would be helping me, not the other way around. And finally, fourth, you're a self-proclaimed coward."

He sighed. This entire situation was not turning out to be what he had expected, but he figured that this was how it must be.

Sophitia smiled. "Yes, yes it is."

They had been running for about twenty minutes when Sophitia stopped and looked back the way she came. Othniel stopped and leaned against a tree, but he still took advantage of her turning around to stare at her blond hair as it twirled across her face.

"Pervert." She mumbled.

He was about to groan when she shot up her hand for him to stop. She was staring intently back towards where they knew the werewolf lair was, and for a second he could have sworn her eyes went white. In moments she shook her head and looked back at him. She was frowning, and her eyes told him something had happened.

"What's wrong, how are Damian and them doing?" Othniel was afraid he did not want to know the answer.

She looked down. While she did her hair hid her face as well as any emotion she may have shown to him. He wondered while he looked at her just how that mindlink worked, because he would have loved to know what she was thinking.

Before Othniel could really delve into thinking about it, she looked up, and her face was a blank slate. "Damian and the others were defeated. They have been taken prisoner and are just now being taken to their lair. Many other werewolves are prowling the area because the one who is in charge remembered that there was seven of us."

The complete lack of emotion in her face puzzled Othniel, but then he thought about Damian, Vincent, Raphael, and Leon being captured. He wondered just what would happen to them inside the lair, and he shuddered. Once again, that nagging voice inside of him came back. It attacked him for not being there with them, but in that moment he pushed the thought out of the way as he focused on the last part of their sentence. He had to protect Sophitia, and they had to reach the vampires with news of the werewolf lair, or else Damian's work would all have been for nothing.

"So—" Othniel's voice cracked and he had to stop to force himself into a calm state of mind. "So since they're looking for us, what do we do? It took us a night and a day to reach here, so it will take us almost that long to get back, what will we do for the daytime?"

Sophitia turned back to the west and concentrated. "There's a safe house about half of the distance to vampire territory. We should reach there by daytime."

"If we don't die first." He smiled wryly.

"If we don't die first." She agreed, while letting the smallest hint of a smile onto her face.

He saw the beginnings of that smile, and just for a moment he thought that the greatest achievement he could make in his life would be to bring about that smile in full. He wanted to think on nothing else beside that, but then he flinched as he remembered the mindlink between them. When he looked at her, however, he saw that she was distracted. A howl that sounded about a mile away from them brought him back from his reverie, and sent the both of them running west.

"Do you think it found us?" Othniel gasped as he ran with all of his strength.

"There's a good chance."

They both winced when they heard the sounds of numerous paws slapping on the path behind them. Othniel tried to discern just how many were behind them, but the sounds were too mingled together for him to make anything out of it.

"There's seventeen of them." Sophitia grunted as she started running faster.

"Seventeen!?" Othniel's mind was already running through the possibilities involved in fighting or evading seventeen werewolves. Escape was out of the option; it is impossible for a vampire to outrun a werewolf on all fours. At the same time, though, he knew that there was no way the two of them could kill seventeen werewolves, even if they were all fifth class.

"They're not, but at least none of them are second class."

Now it seemed even more impossible. "Then what do we do? Can you teleport again?"

She chuckled, but it seemed less at him than at herself. "No, not so soon after just doing it. Well, I might be able to, but it would basically render one of us worthless for quite awhile, or even kill us."

"Ouch, I guess that's out of the question then." Othniel was trying to think of something.

He was still thinking when he realized that he wasn't paying enough attention to those pursuing them. He returned his attention in time to hear one of the creatures stop running, but he did not understand why until it finished its leap and slammed into his back. He tried to roll over, but it pinned him to the ground with its sharp claw and he could feel its jaws just above his neck. A shiver coursed down his spine when it breathed on him. He was sure that he was about to die, but then the werewolf howled and slumped off of him.

Othniel stood and drew his bow from his back in time to know that it would do him no good. All of the others were too close. He dropped the bow and pulled out his sword and dirk in preparation. He knew with a certainty that he would die very swiftly, but a part of him was happy that he would be able to finally silence that voice inside him.

Instead of attacking them right away as they first one had done, the rest of the werewolves circled around the two of them and pulled out their weapons. There were many varieties of weapons among them, but swords were undoubtedly the most populous. Othniel stared at all of them before turning to Sophitia. She was working her fingers swiftly, and looked to be concentrating again.

"Got a plan?" He asked without very much hope.

"Kind of, if you can hold them off for a while I might be able to get us out of this." She did not look at him. Her gaze was locked upwards.

"Sure, great plan." He sighed in resignation. 'Well, if I'm going to die today, I guess there's worse ways to die.'

'True.'

Without waiting any longer, the werewolves lunged towards the two of them, and Othniel placed himself next to Sophitia so that he could be in a position to protect her as well as he could. He was facing the closest ones, but he also made sure to be aware of where all of the others were.

When he clashed with the first two, it was not like a duelist, but rather as if he were playing with them. One lunged in with its sword and the other slashed from the side with an ax, and Othniel deflected the blade with his dirk while blocking the ax upward with his sword tilted. The attacks passed to the sides, and Othniel slashed at the werewolves with his weapons. Both were cut, but neither very seriously. Before he could pursue them, he was forced to stick his sword past Sophitia and deflect another sword aimed for her. He stepped around her and worked his blades furiously to defend both of them and still attack occasionally, but in seconds he had to shift to her back and block those attacking from that direction. In moments, he was fully aware of how impossible what he was doing would have been yesterday, and he was never more glad for Damian giving him one of the hearts. With his new strength, he was still able to barely block their attacks and even cut them a bit. It was still amazingly hard, and he had to devote all of his attention and strength just to keep turning around her and blocking everything headed towards them.

As he blocked the attacks headed towards them, he even began to think that he would be able to win this. A werewolf fell to the ground, overcome by slightly more serious wounds than those around it had, and Othniel was further encouraged, but then he saw a sword point that was heading past his blades. He was busy blocking two other fighters' attacks, and had even managed to get one in the gut, but he had focused too much on attacking, and he watched in horror as the werewolf's sword shot toward Sophitia. Without thinking, Othniel shoved himself in the way of the strike. The sword sliced into his stomach, and he could feel it burst from his other side, but he had done his job well. The sword lost momentum before it hit Sophitia, so she was safe.

Othniel grunted and crossed his dirk and sword, slicing them past each other and cutting off the werewolf's head. The headless body fell to the ground and its hand that still gripped the sword pulled it down with it and out of Othniel's flesh. The sword cut a larger hole, but Othniel fought past the pain as he shifted around Sophitia and blocked a mace that was headed for. In the process, another sword cut into his sword arm, but he was not aware of it anymore. He wrapped his sword through the mace's chain and pulled it towards him, skewing its owner with his dirk before moving on once again. In the battle that followed an ax grazed his chest, a sword sunk into his arm as he jabbed it in front of Sophitia, a knife embedded itself into his leg, and another sword slashed across his lower back as he sacrificed his defense to both block Sophitia and stab another werewolf.

He felt every hit on him, but he found that he cared less and less with every hit. He was letting go of his mind, letting his instincts take over more and more every time he was forced to place himself in the line of a sword or every time he shoved one of his weapons into another body. He still spun around her, even though he was limping and every movement caused pain to course through his body. He knew that he would collapse eventually; somewhere inside him he knew that he would not be able to keep this up for very long at all, but he ignored that voice and supplemented it with one thought.

'I have to protect her. I have to protect her. I have to protect her.'

His movements quickened as he felt more resolve enter his bleeding body. He started snarling back at the bodies that still surrounded them, staring yelling at them, cursing at them. He was barely even aware of what was coming out of his mouth, only that he was blocking and attacking, always blocking and attacking as more and more of his body was lacerated and cut open.

Even with his newfound determination, though, the inevitable still happened. He saw a hammer swinging down towards her, and in his haste he forgot the knife in his leg. He tried to protect her, to block the hammer with both of his weapons on the shaft of it and catching it inside his hilts, but his leg refused to move. In the end, all he was capable of doing was placing himself in the way of the strike, and as it did he knew he was finished. The hammer smashed into his upturned face, and he felt his it breaking as his vision turned white. He did not feel himself falling, or hitting the ground, but when he did begin seeing again, he was lying there, watching the werewolves still left swarm towards Sophitia. He tried to stand up, to throw himself into the fray once more, but his body had left his mind. It felt like he was watching something else happen; like a dream. He knew that this was no dream, however, and he railed and cursed himself, trying to get himself to move.

'Damn it, move. Move! She's going to die! You've got to move!'

Despite all of his exhortations, he could only watch as the werewolves closed in on Sophitia, who was still, amazingly, moving her arms and fingers in complicated gestures. In the seconds before they pounced on her, he felt time slow and saw her arms jerk swiftly as she finished the spell she had been working on. She looked down at Othniel, and for once she smiled. It was, as he had imagined, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and it illuminated the night for him.

"Thank you." She said quietly as the werewolves closed in on her. They led with their weapons because they were tired of fighting and just wanting to finish the battle. Their weapons were inches away from her when she grabbed a stone on her necklace and intoned one word. Their weapons immediately bounced off of something hard as blue mist flowed around her for a few seconds. The spell quickly ended, and the werewolves had only been staggered back, but, as the first one was about to charge back in, it felt a hand on its shoulder. It turned around in time to see another werewolf standing there; one of its dead comrades. The werewolf had no time to contemplate what was wrong before the other dug its claws into the werewolf's pelt and pulled it close. The werewolf moaned in fear, but it was too close to the other to stab it. In another moment, the dead werewolf had begun feasting upon its prize.

The rest of the werewolves were having similar problems. All around, their dead comrades were rising from the ground and attacking them. Othniel still could not move, but his vision was rather clear, and he saw with amazement that the sides were almost even at the beginning of the fight. He wondered if he had really killed almost half of them.

Only one werewolf died before the surprise wore off, but two more died as they realized that stabbing with swords meant nothing to their dead enemies. In moments, those that had died were back on their feet, and now it was eleven to six. The remaining werewolves saw their position and went feral before attacking. They gave all of their strength to cleaving strikes that took large chunks out of their opponents, and tried to attack as many times as they could. Eventually, though, they found that their position was hopeless, and they began to try to run. Had they done this in the beginning of the fight, they might have escaped, but they were too close now, and eventually all of the were born to the ground and ripped apart.

Othniel smiled at the sight of their victory, or at least he tried to smile. As his adrenaline wore off, he felt all of his wounds as he had never before. He had cuts and stabs all over his body, and even he wondered how he was not dead or unconscious. As if on cue, his vision spotted and the world around him literally began to grow darker. He sighed and resigned himself to his death.

'At least, she's okay.'

"Shut the hell up." Othniel felt blood pour down his throat, and he swallowed reflexively so as not to gag on it. More blood came, a steady stream of it, and Othniel drank all of it. He felt his smaller cuts starts to scab over first, and then they closed up while his stabs and large cuts began to do the same. When he opened his eyes, he could feel his face actually put itself back into its original position. Even his nose slowly worked back until it was how it should be.

Othniel stared at Sophitia, and then he smiled. "Thanks."

She smiled back, but it was not that same smile, this was her usual smile, her sarcastic one. "Thanks," she mocked him "Is that all you say to someone who just saved your life? I should have just—" Her word trailed off as her eyes closed and she fainted. He was just able to sit up and grab her, rolling her over and looking at her. Her mouth was bloody, so he assumed that she had drunk some blood, but she was still unconscious. He figured that it was from all of the magic she had been casting tonight. He stared down at her face, and noticed that she was even more beautiful in her sleep.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, Othniel stood with her in his arms. He looked around and was puzzled to see that all of the werewolf corpses were gone, but that small fact escaped his serious thoughts as he tried to remember which way she had said the safe house was. Eventually he was forced to backtrack a bit before coming back, and when he got back into the place the battle had taken place, the amount of blood on the ground astonished him. While wondering how much of that was his, he retraced their steps and finally decided that it was southwest of their position. He shifted Sophitia to his back, made sure he had all of their gear, and began running towards it. He just hoped he could make it there before dawn.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Vincent felt himself being dragged along the forest floor. He was in a state of half-consciousness, but at that moment he wanted to ignore the slight pain in his back, hands, and head and drift back into sleep. He had almost accomplished his goal when whoever was dragging him by his feet walked over a particularly sharp rock. Jarred into full awareness, Vincent found that the first thing he noticed was that both his hands were shackled. The next thing he noticed was that the moon was barely past where it had been before he had been knocked out along with the rest of them.

'The rest of them.' Vincent just then wondered where Damian, Leon, and Raphael had gone. He was being dragged by his heels, so his head had been facing upward when he had woken, but now he forced himself to look to both sides of him. To his right Raphael and Leon were both being pulled along the forest floor in roughly similar fashions. Both of them were still soundly asleep, and the bruises on their faces gave small hints as to how they achieved that state. When Vincent turned his head to the left, he saw that Damian had shackles around both his hands and feet, was being carried by his hands and feet, and was fully awake. Their eyes locked, and Damian smiled.

"I guess we really got beaten this time."

A werewolf walking next to Damian kicked him in the ribs and snarled. "No talking bloodsucker."

Damian turned his head around to regard the werewolf. As the two of them locked stares, Damian slowly spoke. "Darkness."

A deep blackness quickly settled over Vincent, and for a moment he thought that he had been killed, but then he heard the werewolves grunt in surprise, and the clanking of shackles as Damian jerked his feet and pulled them from the hands of one of the werewolves holding him. In the next second, Vincent heard more shifting chains and then the gurgle of the werewolf who had been holding Damian's hands and he could only guess at what was happening. After the werewolf stopped choking and fell to the ground, Vincent heard nothing. He waited and strained his ears, but no sound came to him. Then two hands rested on his shoulder and Damian's voice hissed in his ear.

"I have time only to free you Vincent, you must escape and tell the vampires what we have found. I have faith in you." Damian's voice was strained and he was trying to keep from panting and alerting the other werewolves to their presence.

Vincent nodded his understanding.

"Very well then, run with all of your might Vincent, and I hope that you will one day be able to forgive me for what I did." Vincent could almost hear pain in Damian's voice, but it was gone before he could really identify it. He heard Damian moving swiftly but quietly, and then he heard him speak once again. "Fire."

A burning feeling enveloped Vincent's hands. It flared briefly, and then he felt his hand shackles melting onto his hands. Almost as soon as the spell was cast, however, the darkness lifted and all of the werewolves turned to see Damian lunge at the werewolf holding onto Vincent and wrap the chains around his hands around it. The werewolf dropped Vincent's feet and grabbed onto Damian's back, trying to throw him off. More werewolves ran towards them, but before they could reach them Vincent burst into flight towards the vampire castle.

The werewolves wanted to chase Vincent, but the first one had proven unsuccessful at flinging Damian from it and had fallen to its knees. Spit frothed in its mouth and it tried to rasp out a howl for help. Damian twisted his chains savagely, and the howl was choked off. After giving one last, slow swing behind it, the werewolf fell to the ground, whether dead or merely unconscious, Damian had neither the time nor the incentive to find out. The other werewolves chose him as their target rather than Vincent, probably finding him the easier kill than the one who would run like a rabbit.

They all ran at Damian, while he stood straight, feeling a fool with both his hands and feet bound together. When the first one reached him it swung out with its claws, but despite his handicap, Damian was far from helpless. He whipped the chain between his arms taught and caught the blow on it. The chain bent and absorbed the impact and Damian swiftly spun his arms around in two circles, wrapping the chain around its wrist and trapping it. The werewolf jerked its arm back reflexively, and Damian let it, using the strength of its arm to pull his feet into the air with it. Flexing his arms and pulling, Damian whipped his feet around, looped the chain between them around the werewolf's neck, and swiftly hooked one leg back, tightening his hold and beginning to choke the beast.

The werewolf kept its arm straight, keeping Damian suspended in air with its pure strength, and tried to claw at him with its other arm, but Damian kept his body taught, using his straight posture to give strength to his hold, and the werewolf simply could not attack him. Eventually the werewolf lost balance and fell. As it did Damian pulled to the side with his arms and pushed down with his feet, guiding the werewolf to the ground until its snout was in the dirt and he stood over it. His feet were on both sides of its neck and his hands pulled its arm out of its socket.

Not waiting for this one to pass out, Damian swiftly jerked his feet and snapped its neck. Unfortunately, he had not thought past this point, and he was irrevocably connected to the werewolf now, with no free movement. A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and pulled him back, taking the head of the other werewolf with him. While the forced decapitation had solved Damian's movement problem, he now had a different one as he stared at the dozen werewolves that now surrounded him.

Looking around him, he could see the death in their eyes. An unexplained smile crept across his face. "He will get away."

The werewolf who had first grabbed him smiled as well. The origin for its smile was not obscure, though, and it laughed and bared its fangs. "Maybe, but I bet you aren't going to be so lucky vamp."

A sharp pain burst in Damian's back and he almost blacked out. He lurched forward and had to kick his feet up to avoid falling onto his face. His feet landed on the ground and he was starting to fight back the black that was creeping along the edges of his vision when the speaker twisted back and planted its fist into his stomach. A hiss escaped his lips as all of his breath left him, and Damian fell to his knees. A rough hand grabbed onto his hair and pulled his head back. The fact that the smile was still on his face must have infuriated whoever was holding by the hair, because in another moment its elbow entered his vision for a split second before it rammed down into his nose, splintering it and making him see white everywhere.

Damian lost all control of his body, and almost lost consciousness. He would have fallen to the ground had the werewolf not been holding him upright by his hair still. From behind the haze that flowed over his mind and senses, Damian barely noticed that the blows had stopped and that one of the werewolves were speaking. A few seconds later its word slowly became comprehensible to him.

"—That we were supposed to take him to the King, and that he was not to be harmed."

A werewolf very close to Damian, more than likely the one who was holding him up, laughed harshly at the first speaker. "Well Deathfang's not here is he, and I'm sure the King won't mind if we kill him. There's two more, and we can just claim he was trying to escape, which he was."

No more responses came from the dissenter. Damian was getting his sight back, and could start to feel his limbs by now, but he regretted this, because it meant that he was going to have to feel what was about to be bestowed upon him. The fact that he knew it was coming did nothing to stem the pain. One werewolf broke from the circle and ran at him, when it reached him it cocked back its leg and kicked him in the chest. If Damian had had any breath at this point, he would have lost it again. As it was, the blow caught him on his sternum and he flinched as he felt his chest crack and several ribs break. With the pain in his chest, he barely noticed the ripping in his head when his hairs broke from his skin as the strength of the kick sent him backwards; right into the arms of another werewolf.

It turned him around and gave another grin before smashing its fist into his face from above. Damian bent over in pain, but then he fell back the other way when the werewolf uppercut him in the chest again, causing several more cracks in it. Damian would have fallen down on his back if not for another werewolf behind him shoving its claws into his back. He grunted in pain and stood bent over backwards, feeling strangely free as he lay suspended in space. The first werewolf lifted both hands over its head and brought them down on Damian's chest even as the second one tore its claws away from his back. The result of their teamwork sent Damian to the ground one last time. He had long since lost any kind of control over his limbs, and at this last blow he felt his broken ribs pierce into his lungs.

Every breath Damian took sent pain throughout his body, and each one became harder as his lungs filled with blood. He stared listlessly into the night sky as one of the werewolves walked over him and looked down. It smiled like all of the others.

"Oh, what's this, it looks like its has fallen down. I guess we'll have to help it up then." The werewolf grabbed one of Damian's hands and made as if to pull him up, a gesture that was futile anyway, since Damian needed far more support than one hand, but when it lifted his arm up it snarled and kicked its shin into his taught elbow.

As his arm bent in the wrong direction, a gasp escaped Damian's mouth as he felt the shocking pain coming from his arm. The werewolves must have been disappointed that there was no scream, for they began to frown instead of smile. One of them stood out from the rest.

"Bah, but we'll get no more fun from this one, just look at him, I bet he barely even knows what we're saying now. Let's just kill him before someone wonders where we are."

Damian saw the werewolf, as well as all of the others, but it was like seeing through a looking glass, their features were in the extremes, and blackness was creeping into the edges of his vision. Even in his stupor, however, he was still surprised when a large hand rested on the werewolf's shoulder and it froze.

"We have been wondering where you were, but now that I know, I'm glad I decided to come." Bryce's—or was it Deathfang's?—voice split through the crowd as they turned as one to look at him.

"Uh, Deathfang, we were just—they tried to escape, and the other one did…" the werewolf shook visibly under Bryce's grip.

Bryce looked down at him and then at Damian. "Then why are you not chasing after the escaped one rather than beating one of the captured ones."

"He—he was… He helped the other escape; he even killed one of ours and knocked two others out." The werewolf's eyes were wide as it tried to stumble through an explanation.

"Be silent. I told you that these were to be brought to the King as prisoners, and that they were not to be harmed." Bryce's voice was cold, and it was obvious that the werewolf assumed it was living its last moments. But Bryce's features relaxed and he released the werewolf. "I see, I do not hold you accountable. Feed the vampire from our dead comrade, and then whoever wishes may take what's left of him. I will personally take the vampire back, and I want ten of you to chase after the other one." Bryce was very calm and in control, he spoke with a voice that brooked no disagreement, and his orders were quickly followed.

Damian felt the sweetness of life returning to him, and he was thankful that he was still dazed, otherwise he knew that he would be groaning with pain at his mutilated body repairing itself. Bryce stood over him and stared down at him before turning on those werewolves he had sent to chase down Vincent. They were milling about, unsure if they really had to do what he had commanded.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Bryce took a step forward, but a huge red hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned around and Damian shifted his head to the side to see the newcomer. It was gigantic first class werewolf: at least fifteen feet tall, with muscles like stones and blazing red fur. Damian gasped as he realized that one of the werewolf generals was standing over him.

"Blood." Bryce acknowledged the towering werewolf with a nod of the head.

"Deathfang," Blood made no such nod because he was of a higher rank "I heard that one of the vampire prisoners recently escaped, and I felt like joining the chase for him." Blood's red eyes sparkled, and his fur began to stick up.

Bryce smiled. "Thank you sir, your help would be appreciated. I have delegated these ten towards chasing him. They are yours to command."

Blood snapped his head quickly. "Many thanks, I came because the king told me to tell you that he agrees with your decision to take prisoners. He wants them taken to the holding cells."

"I'll see to it myself." Bryce wrapped his hands around Damian and threw him over his shoulder.

At first Damian was shocked, too stunned to even think, but when thoughts came back into his brain, he wished he still lacked that capacity. He felt only sorrow for Vincent, and remorse that he had set him free. He had hoped to save him, but now that Blood was after him, Damian knew that Vincent would die before the sun came up tonight.

- 14 -


	12. Intrigue

12

Intrigue

Elsewhere, a werewolf of indiscriminate sex walked down a dark hallway. It moved silently, but boldly, as if it cared about nothing. It seemed to be in deep thought, and its steps slowed as it lost interest in moving them. To any onlookers, the werewolf would have appeared to be lost in contemplation as it completely stopped walking next to a door, and they would have probably thought nothing of the werewolf's decision to enter the room it was next to. After all, the werewolf kingdom was a free place, where none could deny any other shelter.

Since the room was dark, an onlooker would not notice anything strange as the werewolf disappeared into the door and closed it behind it. These actions would easily deter any curious werewolf from following; it was not wise to enter into a too close space with another werewolf. A werewolf with more direct reasons for looking after this werewolf would be frustrated by the door being locked from the inside with no visible keyhole and no cracks in or under the door.

Satisfied that its work was done satisfactorily, the werewolf walked in the darkness for a few steps and waited. Its timing had been almost perfect, however, for in a few moments light flooded the room, emanating from what looked like a fountain. The werewolf walked to the fountain and placed its hand on the water in it. The water rippled, but then it settled, and instead of the werewolf's reflection, it saw the face of a male vampire staring at it from the bottom of the fountain. The vampire spoke, and his voice created ripples on the surface of the water.

"Oh good, it's you. I'm always afraid that someone else will answer this."

The werewolf shook its head, and replied in a distinctly female voice. "Of course it is me, I am always here on time, now what is it you want? I may be missed if I stay too long."

The vampire chuckled. His face was wry, as if some inside joke of his that brought him humor also made him grieve. "I was unaware that my company was so odious to you these days."

She growled softly. "This is pointless, you know that both of us have many things to do, and each second we are away is a problem for us. Tell me what you want to know this time, and let us be on our way."

A wisp of a smile flashed across his face. "Fine, I suppose this is more important anyway. Did you get him?"

"Yes, we did. He was captured just hours ago. We also caught two others."

His eyebrow lifted. "Captured? Was he not supposed to be killed?"

"Yes!" She growled. "But the werewolf that was in charge when he was defeated let him live and took him and the other two as prisoners."

"He let them live!?" The amazement on his face was as evident as the surprise in his voice.

"Yes," her voice was merely exasperated. "Apparently he felt honor-bound to let your vampire live for some reason. Our idiot of a King was so taken by the idea of having vampire prisoners that he allowed them to live. I have no idea why, or even what he plans to do with them, but right now all three of them are in our dungeons."

"Wait, wait, three of them? I thought I told you that we sent seven." His hand came to his forehead and rubbed it. "Please tell me that the other four were killed."

She could not keep herself from mimicking his action, letting her elbow rest on the edge of the fountain and resting her snout upon in. "No, just one was killed. Two were said to disappear before the battle began, and one was released by your vampire. Don't worry, though, because Blood is chasing him, so he should be dead soon."

"And the other two?" He let a glimmer of hope into his tone.

She shook her head. "No sign of them. Many werewolves were killed about five miles away from where your vampire was captured, and it is assumed that was them, but since then we have had no confrontations with them. It is as if they have disappeared again."

She saw his fist enter her vision before he slammed it down on some unseen object. "I told you to leave none alive, and yet only one is dead, three escaped, and the one that I truly want dead is only being held captive. If even one of those three make it back here with news of where your lair is, then it could cause very serious problems for all of us."

"I know, it's just that no one expected your vampire to be able to release another of his kind, or that one of the two that got away would be a spell caster. This all is have been information that I wouldn't have minded knowing about before you sent them here." She was feeling as annoyed as he was by now.

"I know" he lifted his fist again, but then he composed himself and slowly lowered it. "The problem is that we knew almost nothing of the vampires Damian chose, and he left right after choosing them, so we were only able to gather information based on their names. I do not know where he found them, but these ones have done nothing to stand out or be mentioned in our annals save when they went up in class. It's almost as if he pulled them out thin air. We assumed that they would be weak, since we knew nothing about them. No one honestly expected them to be as powerful as you say they were."

She felt her own anger recede. It was replaced by a cold pragmatism. "Well, regardless, now I have him here, so you must take care of one of mine."

He looked curious. "A werewolf is causing you trouble? Is it the one who let Damian live?"

"Yes, I have no idea who he is, he just recently joined us, but he is a first class and I fear that he could be dangerous."

A smile spread across his face. "Sounds fun, what's his name?"

She could not help but chuckle at his bloodlust. "It's Deathfang. I'll tell you more next time."

"Fine, I will count the days until our next meeting." He grinned.

"And I will as well, even with that trite expression. She sneered back at him.

For a moment his expression softened. He looked so sad. "Goodbye." Then his face was gone, and the fountain she stared into only rendered back her own visage until the light completely faded from the room.

Sophitia stopped running at what looked like a fork in the trail she and Othniel were running on. Othniel was having such a hard time keeping up with her that he did not know she had stopped until he had almost ran into her. She seemed to be wondering which way to go, and he was fine with her taking her time. He was exhausted, even with the rest at the safe house and the power from the lower werewolves, running for almost two straight days, half of it with Sophitia in his arms, fighting, and recovering from his wounds was really taking its toll on him. He blew out air from his mouth and leaned against a tree. Once his body accepted the fact that it was no longer moving, he slid down the tree and sat at its base. He looked up at her, and marveled that she was even standing, let alone she was not even breathing hard. She showed no fatigue at all, in fact, even despite having passed out just the other night.

"Oh come on…there's no way…you're not tired…after all that…running." He panted between breaths.

She looked at him without moving her head, her eyes scanning him from above. "I guess I'm just in better shape than you."

"Bull," he shifted a bit and sat straighter. "There's no way, I'm a higher class than you anyway."

This time she did not look at him. Her gaze was fixed on the two paths. "Fine, it's a spell, it basically moves my limbs for me, but it is only useful for running, and it does not exercise the muscles at all."

He groaned and rolled forward onto his back on the ground. "And why, pray-tell did you not pass some of that my way?"

She smirked at him. "I figured that you needed the exercise, and I guess that I was right judging by how dead you look now."

He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep at that moment, but he forced himself back up to his feet. He could not allow himself to fall asleep now, because he knew that he would not be able to wake before sunrise unless Sophitia woke him, and he did not need another chance to look weak in front of her. Wobbling just a bit, he staggered over to where Sophitia stood and waited silently next to her as he waited for her to choose which path to take, even though the choice seemed obvious to him.

Apparently she decided, since she moved to the left one, which led south.

"Wait, vampire territory is North-West of here." Othniel was sure she knew this, but she was taking the wrong path.

"I know, we're not going to vampire territory." She did not stop walking down her chosen path.

"What!" Othniel started jogging after her, ignoring his legs' protests. "But we just found out the location of the werewolves' lair. This has to get back to the patriarch as soon as possible."

She quickened her pace into the beginning of a run. "I know."

He growled softly and quickened his as well. "And…usually for information to get somewhere it has to be brought by people."

"I know." Her voice was flat and she worked her way up to a full run.

Amazingly enough, he forgot his legs in his frustration. "Gah, what do you know that I don't?"

"We're not the only ones who escaped."

His protests were silenced as he thought about that statement. Then in an instant he burst out in noise. "Really? Who else got away? Did Damian? So did they somehow win after being captured?"

She kept running. "In short: yes, Vincent, no, no."

"Um… I forgot what order my questions were in." He grinned sheepishly.

She shifted her gaze to him and sighed. "Yes, really. Vincent escaped but I do not know how. No, Damian is still captured. No, they lost, but somehow he got away."

"Ah, thanks…" Othniel felt like there was something he was missing. "Wait… That still doesn't explain why we're headed south? What's there that's worth going to?"

A long silence followed his question as they ran, and Othniel had to focus on his aching legs again as he wondered if she would ever answer him.

"Because…" Othniel snapped his attention back to her. "Because I don't think that we can win the war that will come when they learn where the werewolves are on our own."

"What? Why?"

She flashed a quick, wry smile. "You wouldn't know this since you're not a mage, but just as we left I felt hundreds of werewolves closing in on us, and that was only at a moment's notice. In all, the werewolves must number in the thousands."

Othniel felt his eyes widen in disbelief. "Thousands?! Is that even possible?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, I just don't know any more."

"H-how many do we have?" He still was not sure he believed the werewolves had thousands of warriors.

"About seven hundred, not counting the civilian militia."

He felt himself shudder. "It's just like the first time…"

"Yes, it is. Fortunately, though, with the forewarning they receive from Vincent, they should be more prepared. So we should be in a better position than last time."

"Okay… I got all of that, but why the hell are we going south?" Othniel knew there was something he was missing here.

He saw her look down. "To try to get help from the Necromancers."

His eyes widened. "A-what?! But I thought that the Necromancers in Darkovia made an oath long ago to not join in any of our battles."

"They did." Her voice had gone flat again.

'Why is she always like this?' he could not help thinking. "Okay…and how do you expect to change their minds?"

She was still looking down for some reason. "I have told you that I was a Necromancer before I became a vampire, right?"

"Yea…" He wondered where she was going with this.

"But I never told you what rank I was, right? Well, I was our leaders daughter." She quickly shifted her eyes and looked at him to gauge his reaction.

With all of the surprises he had been experiencing lately, this fact barely impacted him, except for one part. "Wait… Necromancers have kids?"

"Yes, very few of them do—Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

He flinched reflexively. "Nothing, nothing, it's just that they don't exactly seem like the kind of people who would have kids is all." He hoped he sounded contrite and convincing.

Her eyes narrowed and she kept facing forward. "Well, it doesn't matter. I say that we're going south, so that's what we're doing. And that's final."

"Yes master" He mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I didn't say nothin'." Othniel growled and focused on running. He knew that wherever the Necromancer's lived would be far away, and that he would have to steel himself for another long run.

On the subject of running, Vincent was getting very tired of that same action. He had managed to run for a day or maybe two, but now he was running out of strength. His breath was running ragged in his lungs, and he was barely aware of where he was running; only aware that he had too keep on running. The incessant howling behind him drove him on like war drums, and the blood in his ears throbbed in time with his pounding feet. Even using all of his strength, and with the break provided by them becoming human during the daytime, he was still only barely ahead of them, and they were catching up faster than any time before. He felt like they would catch him at any moment.

Then, ahead of him, he saw something that made his heart jump. It was the trail that would lead him back to the vampire territories. He knew where he was now, and might be able to evade his captors. He felt unnecessarily giddy at having this one ray of hope, but his hope was quickly shattered as he heard a thundering noise behind him. Without looking, he somehow knew that it was a first class werewolf coming after him.

Despair fell over him, and he felt only a little more as a large hand wrapped around him and he was flung to the side. He glanced off of a tree, spun in the air, landed with a thump, rolled, and ended back on his feet. Despite this display, however, he knew that he was dead, and it was not just because the werewolf was over twice his size, he had been running since before he could remember, and he had no weapons. No, he knew, somehow, that even if he had his weapons, was rested, and the werewolf in front of him was in its normal form, that he would lose to this red-haired beast. It seemed to give off an aura that overpowered him before he could even think about running or fighting back.

The werewolf did not attack him. For some strange reason it just stood in front of him and stared at him while the other werewolves surrounded him. He did not know why, but he felt fascinated by the red werewolf's two swords that were strapped to its back. One was huge and must have been at least ten feet long, the other was smaller and only five feet long. Vincent resigned himself to his death by this gigantic werewolf. He supposed that it was only natural to be defeated by the perfect hunter. Just as he was about to give in to his exhaustion and fall to the ground—why keep standing when one could die on the ground just as well—he heard a voice bellow out from nowhere he could tell.

"Triplecorpse Hammerblow!"

The noise made all of the werewolves, even the large red one stop and look around for a moment. When nothing happened, though, they turned their attention back to Vincent, and the ten smaller werewolves began to stalk towards him again.

Vincent blew breath from his mouth. That voice had shocked him out of his submissive state, and now he wanted nothing more than to kill at least one of these before he died. He knew that he would die, though, that was clear. Then, however, he saw a figure falling from up above him and land on the ground a few feet from one werewolf. The werewolf spun around in surprise, but it could do nothing to dodge the huge hammer that smashed it into the ground, flattening it like a pancake. The rest of the werewolves turned to regard the figure, and several actually gasped. Before them stood the largest human any of them had ever seen. He stood taller than any of them besides Blood, and must have been at least ten feet tall. His muscles bulged on every part of his body as he brought his huge hammer up from the ground and rested it on his shoulder. His sandy blond hair hung to his shoulders and his face was handsome enough.

Within an instant, all of the werewolves forgot about Vincent and charged at the human. He laughed until three got too close, at which time he grabbed his hammer with both hands and swung it sideways, smashing all three into a tree and completely obliterating their torsos. The hammer stuck in the tree, and he was forced to let go of it when a feral werewolf ran at him from the side. It lunged at him, but its movement was stopped completely by his outstretched arm. It slammed against his palm and tried to dodge around, but he closed his fingers around its skull, and before it could start to claw at him he squeezed. It made mewling sounds for several seconds before its skull imploded, spraying blood and gray matter all over the human.

With his free hand, the human finally ripped his hammer from the tree, causing it to fall over, and held it in front of him, daring the other werewolves to attack him. They were very wary of him by now, however, so the remaining five—Blood had not done anything for the entire fight—circled around the human, trying to find a chance to kill him. Unfortunately for them, they failed to notice the second, black-clothed, figure that was even now lurking in the shadows around them. They did notice him, though, but not until he leapt out, shoved a silver saber into one's back, pulled it out with a spin, and finished the spin by kicking another werewolf in the face.

The werewolf staggered for a bit, but then it recovered, and was about to attack the other human again when it realized that it had moved far too close to the large human. It never fully realized this, though, because it was smashed within moments. Another werewolf charged the black-clad one, and it swung its sword with all of its might. Unfortunately, the human was no longer where it had aimed, instead he was behind the werewolf, stabbing it through the neck. The remaining werewolves charged the smaller one, but one was not paying enough attention, because it stepped just a foot too close to the large human, who promptly smashed it as well.

Even as the large human reduced the werewolf to pulp, however, Blood made his move. He rushed towards the large human, who saw him out of the corner of his eye and spun around, swinging out with his hammer grasped in one hand. Blood was too close, though, and the head of the hammer passed behind him, making the rest of the hammer pass as well. Blood was very close now, and he was about to attack when the human grabbed the neck of the hammer with his other hand and pulled with both hands, pinning Blood to him. He had intended to break Blood's back with the handle of his hammer, but once he began to try he realized the futility of the actions. Blood was much too strong for a maneuver like that, and with his added height, pinning him was ineffective too. Blood smiled and lifted his fist up before slamming the human to the ground, breaking his hold on his hammer.

It was obvious to Vincent that the human's nose was broken from its shape and all of the blood that was gushing from his face, but he did not flinch. Blood lifted his fist to his mouth and ran his tongue along it before smearing the blood into his fur.

"You have good blood, human. You will increase my power greatly."

"Not yet it won't, my beastly adversary." The voice from behind Blood was accompanied by a huge ball of fire that blew into him. Even Vincent knew that werewolves feared fire, but watching Blood he wouldn't have been able to tell. Blood stared down at the human on the ground as the fire began to spread along his back, and he then looked at the other one before smiling.

"You win this time, warriors, but pray that you are not alone the next time we meet." He ran off into the forest, the pyre on his back giving away his position for several hundred feet.

The skirmish was over and Vincent was just beginning to fully comprehend what was going on. He saw all of the dead werewolves and the two humans and realized that he would live. 'That is,' he thought with a sudden jolt, 'if they don't want to kill me too.' He figured that he would have to take offensive action if he were to live through this encounter. He walked towards the two of them and tried his best to smile.

"Thank you friends. You've no idea just how much you've helped the vampires tonight. If you'll come with me to the Vampire Castle, I'm sure that you will be greatly rewarded." He thought that the vampires would have no objections to this, or at least he hoped they would not.

Unfortunately, the large one, the one Vincent assumed must be called Triplecorpse Hammerblow, only frowned. "Stow it vampire, we didn' come here to save your sorry arse. We came here to avenge Lidian, and these were the first werewolves we cud' find."

"It is as my large, barbaric friend says, my little vampire. We did not travel countless leagues to this decadent place in order to swear our allegiance to a society that is corrupt and altogether devoid of honor, but rather to seek vengeance for the crime that was perpetrated against our mutual friend Lidian; who unfortunately decided to ally herself to you and your brood." The Human who spoke next to Triplecorpse was about five-eight, rather good looking, and dressed completely in black. In his hand he held a bloody saber, and he had knives visible from almost every conceivable place. He had two in each of his boots, three in each of his sleeves, four in his belt, and two were showing from inside his shirt; and that was just the ones Vincent could immediately see. The man had the look of intelligence mixed with deception.

Vincent cocked his eyebrow. "And…Who're you?"

The man smiled, as if he had been waiting for that question. "Aha, I'm so glad you asked. I am Jacque Dufromage (Don't let the name fool you, I'm from our continent, I just liked this one better than my original one), pirate and assassin extraordinaire!" As he said this he bowed low before springing into the air, flipping backwards, and landing back on his feet with a flourish of an imaginary hat that should have been on his head.

"Um…Right, well, since you guys are technically on Lidian's side, and since I'm on her side…Are you going to let me go?" He hoped that his logic would make sense to them.

Jacque's smile disappeared, replaced with a frown. "Oh, don't mind us, you just continue on your way with whatever information you have that is so vital." He walked to a tree and leaned on it while cleaning his blade with a cloth he had produced from somewhere.

"Uh, thanks." Vincent did not want to wait around and see if they would change their minds, so he abruptly turned tail and ran back off into the forest, anxious to get as much distance between himself and these strange humans as he could despite his horribly aching body.


	13. Dragon Hunting

13

Dragon Hunting

The male vampire opened the door to the room and was astonished to see the fountain ahead of him already glowing. She had contacted him, which was a first. He quickly walked to the fountain and placed his hand on its waters. In seconds the water stilled and he could see her staring at him. He grinned happily, but he doubted that she had called just to talk to him.

"Ah, my sweet, you called for me, and here I am. Shall we talk about old days? Or shall we discuss a way to be in each other's arms once again?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Be quiet. You know fully well that we cannot see one another until our work is done. More importantly, did any of them reach you?"

"One," he sighed, "Vincent just reached us a little while ago. He has not presented a formal report to the council yet, but he has told several vampires about his findings, and the entire city is awash with talk about the discovery of your lair. I thought that you said your men would kill him. You even said that you sent Blood."

"We did, and Blood said that they had caught him when they were attacked by two humans. A mage and a large barbarian. We sent ten werewolves along with Blood, but only he survived the incident. His entire back is burned black too." She made a face, and he could not tell if it was consternation or amusement. She always had this way of making such ambiguous faces that he could rarely tell what she was thinking. He did not know if he enjoyed that or hated that about her. He noticed that she had stopped talking, and was waiting for him to respond.

"Damn, so what happened to the humans?" It sounded weak to him, but he did not know what else to say.

She raised an eyebrow. "We don't know, I had assumed that they would come to you with Vincent and join you. Have they not?"

"No, he came alone. We thought nothing of it, but this information is rather disturbing. What do they think they can do alone?" He puzzled.

She waved his concerns aside with her hand. "Regardless, it is better to act as if they did not exist. We don't need any more complications right now. The more important matter is what to do."

He was not completely convinced, but he figured that he would let the matter slide. "Right, on a side note, though, how do you want us to deal with that Deathfang fellow you were having problems with?"

She cocked her head to the side for a second. "Oh right, him, you don't need to worry about him. Something came up this morning, and I've found a way to have him taken care of. More importantly, how will we deal with Vincent? Can you kill him?"

He chuckled. "As much as I would love to, it would be far too suspicious to have the bearer of such important news die right after making it public. Those whom he told about it would step up and trumpet his information for all to know. I must give him credit. I thought that he would just be Damian's pawn in this, but he has proved to be resourceful when it comes to surviving in a politically charged environment."

"Then the only option left is to speed up our plans." She did not seem very pleased with the thought.

He thought about that for a moment. "Yes, we should just go straight to the last phase."

"Exactly what I was thinking, but we'll need Lueke's permission before we do that." Now she seemed almost happy to him. Maybe the thought of blood was exciting her. She always had been excited by it. The thought of that made a shiver pass through his body. Oh how that had excited her. The memories those thoughts brought back to him made him feel that he could not bear to be apart from her any longer.

"I-I'll send one of my men to Lueke as soon as possible…But wait, how will we get the werewolves out of their lair and into an open field with the vampires? They could conceivably stay there and make the vampires invade, which would destroy our plans quite thoroughly."

She appeared to be in thought for a moment. "True, but I have no idea how we'll get them out."

He tried not to smile as the thought hit him. It was perfect. "As much as it pains me, I think that you will have to release Damian and his subordinates."

"What!?" Surprise and rage showed on her face. Two emotions he rarely got to see, but that she was very bad at hiding.

"Just listen, if you can find a way to have Damian and them released and then have the werewolf Queen be near the prison when he is, then he would jump at the chance to serve his race and would capture her along with her handmaidens. You would obviously be there, to make sure that everything would work out." He hoped that he sounded casual.

For a moment her eyes narrowed. "Is it really necessary for all of us to be captured?"

He felt her suspicion, but his face was placid. He had been through worse situations. "Yes, the King will not be provoked unless someone dear to him is taken, and everyone knows how much he loves the Queen. And," he could not keep his desire out of his voice, "I can't bear to be apart from you for much longer. They said that we would only be apart for a short time, but it's been almost fifty years. I need you, Victoria."

Her face softened. "Alright, Aaron, I'll agree to this. Are you sure that it will bring about the war that needs to be fought?"

"Exactly," he was surprised at how the entire situation actually worked out, "and when they've fought to the death and one side claims a narrow victory…"

"We will be there." She finished for him.

"And that's when the victory will belong to us…" Leading her felt good.

"The Werepyres." She finished for him again with pleasure.

"So how've you been Deathfang?" Bryce turned around in his seat to see Lupine enter his house and revert to her human form.

"I've been better." He tried to smile as he put down the book he had been reading with his new eyes.

She looked at him quizzically. "Got something on your mind?" She said as she helped herself to the chair that was across from him.

He sighed before speaking, trying to compose his thoughts. "It's our race. Do we have any honor at all?" He felt stupid even asking the question.

She seemed to immediately know what was going on. "Oh, you're referring to the outcome of your fight with that Damian fellow who defeated you in combat but was still captured and imprisoned."

"Exactly," he felt better now that he was talking about it. "He had the honor to let me live after defeating me, but now he's in prison awaiting whatever fate our society has in store for him."

She thought about that for a bit before reaching a conclusion. "Well, listen, remember when I told you about the time when vampires and werewolves were united?"

"A little," he searched his mind. "It was during the Werepyre war right?"

She smiled at his good memory. "Right, well, after we beat them we agreed to an alliance and made a pact that divided Darkovia into two parts and stated that neither race could cross the boundary into the other country unless given permission by the leaders of both countries. For a time all of us prospered, and both races lived in relative harmony. One night, however, we awoke to find that our King and Queen had been killed in their sleep and their hearts had been ripped out. Even though the vampires still denounce the deed to this day, we know that it was them. Who else could have done it? Every werewolf loved our King and Queen."

Bryce was wondering just how much he knew about history at this point. "How do you know it wasn't the Vampire Slayers who killed them?"

"Good point," she smiled. "We thought of that, but it would be a first for them to attack in such a manner. Those ones truly are 'honorable,' and they've never killed a werewolf in his or her sleep before or since. Besides, only the vampires knew the location of the castle we had then. Altogether, it reeked of vampire treachery. Look, the reason I'm telling you this is teach you this: they betrayed us first, and while a single vampire or werewolf may be able to afford having honor, we as a nation cannot take such luxuries. And besides, at least you saved him from the other werewolves. If you had not told them to capture him, he'd be dead right now."

Bryce took a moment to reflect on this before he nodded his head. "Yes, I suppose that you are right."

She smiled again. "Of course I'm right, what else could I be? Anyway, before I get to why I came here, is there anything else history-related that you would like to know?"

"Hmmm, I'd like to know what the Werepyres were and why we had to kill them." He had been wondering about that for awhile now.

"I figured that you would want to know about them sometime soon." She repositioned herself in her seat. "Well, the Werepyres were a hybrid of vampire and werewolf blood. Now, by 'hybrid' I do not mean that it was a brought about by a vampire being bit by a werewolf or a human bit by both races. No, a Werepyre can only be the child of a vampire and a werewolf. That said, once Werepyres are created, they can turn both werewolves and vampires into Werepyres simply by biting them. However, for some reason the vampire or werewolf must want to become a Werepyre, otherwise nothing will happen except maybe they'll die.

"Now, as for appearances, they looked like first class werewolves except that they had large, leathery wings, huge canine fangs, and their hands are similar to the vampires' Other form. They possess the extreme regenerative capabilities of both of our races, and have almost none of our weaknesses. They fear neither wood nor silver nor fire. In fact, the only thing that we have found to be harmful to them is sunlight. They still stay in their Werepyre form during the day, but they can't touch the sunlight. They are stronger than most werewolves are, far stronger than vampires are, and they are generally faster than werewolves as well, but tend to be slower than vampires. In general, we calculate that any Werepyre can kill any first class werewolf or Other form vampire, but that it would lose to both of them put together.

"As to the reason we needed to destroy them. Besides the fact that they are freakishly strong, when the first Werepyre reached maturity (for it is only when they reached maturity that they look like Werepyres, before that they resemble whatever race their mother is), he immediately made it his goal to either convert all vampires and werewolves to Werepyres or kill them. No one knows why he did it, but within a few months, bot races saw the need to try to destroy them. There were about one hundred Werepyres alive at the time, so the two of our races combined were able to completely destroy them, but we took a heavy toll. We lost many of our own fighters, since basically any warrior who was not a first class was no match for them. Many of our first classes died as well, and the only ones left alive today are Scar and Ghost. They are our greatest warriors save for our King and maybe our Queen.

"But enough of this. I was sent here to tell you that our King and Queen wish to meet with you for a special mission. Will you come?"

Bryce was finally getting used to how fast she changed subjects. "Yes, I'll go."

As they were walking through the streets towards the King and Queen's throne room, Bryce suddenly got an idea.

"Say Lupine, how do you know that it wasn't the Werepyres who killed your King and Queen?"

"Aha!" She snapped her fingers. "A good question. You see, we know that it was not the Werepyres because all of the Werepyres were dead at the time. We knew this because our now-deceased Queen was able to sense Werepyre presence. Apparently she was born with the ability to sense almost anything, and so she put that to good use in leading both armies to every Werepyre den. They fled like rabbits after they lost our only battle, but eventually we hunted each and every one down and slaughtered them like they did to our races. We kept hunting until she could feel their presence no more. This is how we are certain that there were no Werepyres alive at the time, and we are also equally certain that no more have been created since then by either of our races."

Bryce thought on this until they reached the castle and they went inside. They were quickly let into the royal hall, and as they walked up to the thrones the King hailed Bryce.

"Ah, Deathfang, I'm glad you've come. There is an urgent matter that we believe calls for your special skills."

Bryce bowed. "I am yours to command, my King. What is the task you wish me to perform?"

The King smiled at his ready obedience. "It has come to our attention that a dragon has wandered into our territory. It appears to be a red drake of at least one hundred years. Few times has such an opportunity presented itself to us, and we would like for you to be the one to capture it for us and turn it into one of our own kind. It will be very dangerous, and so far no warrior has come back successfully from such a mission. Will you accept it?"

"Very well sir." Bryce was pleased that the King thought so much of his ability, but then he wondered just why the King thought so. "But, if I may, why send me? There are other werewolves more powerful than I, my King."

The King looked to the side a bit. "It's true, we do have a few warriors that are more suited for the task, but our strongest warrior, Blood, is recuperating from a previous battle, both Scar and Ghost have declined the offer on account of having something very important to do, and none of the others will accept."

This made Bryce wonder just how dangerous this mission was. He was also struck, however, at how the King had allowed others to decline his offer. If Bryce did not know better, he might have thought that the King was benevolent. He needed to get his mind off of his battle with Damian, however, and he thought that this would be a perfect chance. "I will accept your offer, my King. If I may ask, where is the Dragon now?"

The King slapped his throne. "Hah, now that's what I like to hear. The dragon was last seen near the Galstryx's Claws mountain range. It will probably have moved by now, so it will be up to you to track it."

"Yes, sir, I will leave at once." Bryce waited for permission to leave.

"Deathfang." The King's voice was quiet.

Bryce looked up. "Yes, sire?"

"Know that, once you leave our lair, you have officially accepted the hunt, and may not come back without that dragon." The King was expressionless.

Bryce took a deep breath. "Yes, sire. I completely understand."

"Very well," the King's expression softened. "You may go, and take great care."

"Thank you sir, I will." Bryce bowed once again before leaving the chamber with Lupine. Lupine left him at the entrance to go to her home, and Bryce quickly headed towards his own. When he got there he immediately called Serenade. She came in from the kitchen with an apron on and a knife in her hand.

"What is it?" She asked while running a rag over the knife.

"I'm going on a mission to capture a dragon, I'll be gone for a bit, and I'll need my equipment. Do you know where it is?" He began walking to another room to search for it.

She finished cleaning the knife and set it on a crag that served the role of a dresser. "Yes, I do. Why do you need it?"

"I just told you, I need it to kill a dragon." Bryce was still rummaging around in a room.

"But why do you need to kill a dragon?" She walked up behind him and placed her hands akimbo.

He turned around and faced her, a questioning look on his face. "Because the King told me to, so it's my duty."

"Oh," she shifted an eyebrow and hip. "And not because to disobey him would show him that you're not really a werewolf?"

The question on his face deepened. His face furrowed. "What are you talking about, of course I'm a werewolf."

"Wrong!" She stepped closer to him. "You are a vampire slayer and an elf."

"Well yes, I'm that as well." Bryce did not know what point she was trying to make.

"So then why not try to act like one?" She was shorter than him, but she looked up at him in a way that made him feel she was taller, and that irritated him.

"I'm working on it." He huffed and tried to step past her.

She blocked his way with her body. "And just how are you working on it? What exactly have you done for your people since killing that cook?"

He sighed, exasperated. "I defeated the vampires. I'm a vampire slayer, so I'm doing what I'm meant to do by being here."

She laughed. Laughed, at him! "You think that you've gotten your eyes back, Bryce, but you're more blind than ever, you're supposed to kill werewolves too."

She expected a reaction, but she was even more horrified by what she saw in his face. He had no recognition of him name.

"Bryce?" She felt fear for the first time in the conversation. "Bryce, you remember who you are, right?"

"Of-of course Serenade. I'm D-" he paused. "I'm Bryce. See?"

She slapped him, as hard as she could. "What are you?" She yelled in horror. In seconds, though, she regretted what she had done, as Bryce turned his face back from the recoil, he stared at her with a snarl on his face and pure black eyes. She tried to step back, but he reached out a furred hand and clenched her neck. She tried to hit him in her panic, to claw and scream and struggle, but he barely felt her as he morphed into his first class. Her feet slowly left the floor as she was forced to grab his hand with both of hers in order to keep from being strangled. He still stared at her, his eyes black with malevolence, and his snout twisted in a sneer of rage.

"Who do you think you are?" His voice was twisted with ferocity and hate. "You are nothing." He slammed her into the floor of his home, and she cried out in pain. He held her there. Savoring the pain he saw on her face, the tears that rolled down her cheek, the way her scar flushed with the red in her cheeks. Deathfang loved the anguish he saw in her eyes. He felt pure enjoyment in each of her sobs, but he knew that the best pleasure would come when he devoured her in every way.

"What are ya' doing, lad?" A hand rested on his; a normal hand; a human-looking hand.

Deathfang looked over at the figure that stood next to him and froze. Dejan stood before him, clothed in rags, and covered in blood, but he was alive. The pure shock of the sight jarred his control over Bryce, and a crack appeared in his consciousness. Bryce saw Dejan too, but he could scarcely believe what he saw. This could not be possible; it just could not be true. He had seen Dejan die, he had bitten chucks of flesh from his body until he was nothing more than a bloody pile of what he had once been. He just could not accept it.

"You…you're dead." Deathfang let go of Serenade in his confusion, and she scrambled away to the wall. Dejan strode towards Deathfang, who also staggered back. "I saw you die. I feasted on you myself."

"I told ya', lad, that everythin' has a choice." Dejan walked towards Deathfang. "You're losing to this beast, lad, but you don't have to."

Bryce saw for the first time what he had been doing. He saw Serenade's tears and the blood dripping from her mouth. He knew what he had done, and he felt a wave of hate flow over him. 'What am I?' He cursed himself. 'I hurt her. I almost killed her. I would have devoured her in moments. H-How could I?' He railed at himself, cursing and shouting his anger and self-hate.

Deathfang was up against a wall. He felt Bryce trying to break free, and he growled. "No use, Bryce, I'm here, now, and there's no way you can take away what we've done now." He growled as he began to morph into his normal form. "Don't fight me, Bryce, they hate you now. They know what you're capable of. You can't win without me."

Bryce kicked and screamed, tears ran down his face as he looked at Dejan and at Serenade's wounds. "I hate you!" He screamed at Deathfang. "Look at what you've done. You've cost me everything!"

"No, Bryce, what we've done." Deathfang growled back as patches of skin began to form over the fur.

Bryce stood in darkness, his hands at his head. He wanted to let go, to give in to Deathfang and let him have his way. Then he saw Serenade, though, and he growled. "No." He stood firmly. "No. We are not the same. I divorce you from me. You are not a part of me; have never been a part of me. You are nothing!"

Deathfang growled desperately as it's skeletal structure shifted back to one of a human and its presence from his mind shrank. When the metamorphosis was complete, Bryce fell to the ground, exhausted. Before Serenade could go to him, though, he rose back to his feet and stared at her. His eyes were full of sorrow and resolve. "My name is Bryce Kyrcerin. I am an Elf, a druid, and a vampire slayer; but I am also a werewolf. I must follow my basic instincts, but I will not allow them to control me, and I will never allow myself to broach my beliefs again. I will serve the werewolves, but only as long as I believe what I must do to be right, and I will always be first and foremost a vampire slayer under the order of E, our leader; and I will never hurt you again Serenade. This I swear by my life, my blood, and my ancestors."

Serenade smiled. In spite of the pain she felt, she knew that nothing had been seriously injured in her, and she was finally convinced that she was with Bryce and only Bryce. She stood to her feet and smiled at him. "Okay, now I'll get you your gear. One thing, though, who were you talking to?"

Bryce furrowed his brows before spinning around quickly. He saw no one. Dejan had vanished as if he had never been there. Bryce looked back at Serenade and could only smile in his confusion. "Dejan."

She did not question him; she only walked into one of his rooms and returned with his weapons and a set of clothes for him. "Good." She smiled again, and Bryce thought again just how beautiful she was.

When he was fully equipped with his two swords and clothes, he stood by the door as Serenade fussed over him.

"You're sure that you don't want me to help you?" She asked for the enth time with that adorable look of worry on her face.

He could not help but smile. "Yes, I'm quite sure. I am going up against a dragon after all, and I can't risk losing you now." Or ever, he wanted to say. "Lupine told me that the best thing for me to do while away is to give you to her until I get back. I'm sure she'll treat you well, and I think that your tasks will be light. It's basically for your protection. Okay?"

"Yea, sure." She looked downcast.

"What was that?" He feigned displeasure.

"I said yes sir, ass."

"That's better."

When he left, they were both smiling.

Bryce walked out of Stone Wolf's mouth and turned to regard the large bust. Stone Wolf was the first to talk, as he always was. It seemed that few werewolves ever bothered to really talk t it, and it relished seeing Bryce because it knew that he would always spare some time for it.

"Ah, Deathfang, finally someone who will do more than chant at me and use my tongue as a stepladder. What brings you out this night?"

"Hello Stone Wolf, I'm out here on official business. Apparently there's a dragon out here somewhere and I'm the one who needs to find and kill it. Think there's any way you can help?"

If it were possible, Bryce was sure that Stone Wolf would be smiling at the moment. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I have been sensing a draken power directly east of here. It's remarkably close as well, so you seem to be in luck."

Bryce chuckled. "Thanks, bye-the-way, how did you ever come to be here?" He knew that time was precious, but he had wondered about this for a long time, and he felt that he really had to know.

"Oh, I've always been around here, but it was only recently that one of your Queens used some very powerful spells to bind me to one place. Since then I've had to just sit here and have my throat invaded by furry animals and have my ears melted off by their chants. You know that you all live within my stomach don't you?"

Bryce did not know whether to be taken aback or amused. "How strange, will the spell ever be broken?"

It rolled its eyes. One of the few processes it still was in control of. "Not in the foreseeable future. Eventually you'll all die out or run out of power enough for me to break it. And let me tell you, if the latter of those two options ever happens I'm killing you all. However, for now and for a very long time I'll have to be content to just lie here and take what little vengeance I can."

"Oh," Bryce grinned. "And how exactly do you strike said vengeance against us?"

"Well, you see, I can let any werewolf in, but any other race must be crushed. However, I decide what a 'werewolf' is and what is not. I'm far more perceptive than any werewolf will ever be. I'm not fooled, but I let some in anyway, just to screw with you." It sounded so satisfied with itself.

Something about the way it was speaking gave Bryce pause, but he figured that he would have to press on if he had any chance of catching up to the dragon, so he just laughed. "Good job, you do your best to bring about our demise."

As he ran off he heard Stone Wolf yell back. "Oh I will, inevitable and bitter death and destruction to your race and a good evening and good luck to you, Bryce Kyrcerin, my friend."

Bryce found it hard to shrug off anything Stone Wolf said, but he focused on morphing into his first class form and running with all of his speed in the direction of the power Stone Wolf had specified. Even while he was in his first class form, however, he could not feel a trace of Deathfang within him, and that felt good. He felt the miles slip past him with relish, and for a few hours he allowed himself to bask in the physical exertion of running. Monotonous tasks, while they may be an anathema to mortals, were relaxing to Bryce. Their familiarity comforted him. He ran for a night, ran in his normal elf form for the day, and ran for most of the next night as well before he finally caught the scent of the dragon. It had been moving swiftly, but now its scent was motionless. He decided that it was either sleeping or resting. Either option provided him with the perfect chance to attack it.

It was close now, close enough for him to realize that Dragons gave of very little scent for being such large animals. Had Stone Wolf not given him better directions, he may never have been able to find it. He had found it, though, and he could hear its steady breathing. It seemed to be asleep, so Bryce very carefully crept up to the bushes that covered the clearing the beast was in and slowly pulled one aside. At first all he saw was bright, blazing red, and then it was eclipsed for a moment by darker red as the dragon blinked it huge eye. Bryce lunged back as he heard the dragon's laughter bellow through the forest.

"So they did send one after me. Every time I enter this worthless forest they send a werewolf or vampire or something after me, and every time the outcome is the same. The dragon backed away from the hole in the bushes, and Bryce's eyes widened as he realized how gigantic the dragon really was. Bryce was at least twelve feet tall in his current form, but he was dwarfed by the huge monstrosity that was before him. It could easily have been the size of his house, if not larger.

Bryce forced himself away from his awe at the Dragon's physique for long enough to notice that it was breathing in excessively. Bryce did not need the dragon's red skin to tell him what was coming, and he desperately leapt to the side as the dragon exhaled and the air in front of its mouth exploded into a fiery inferno. Grass, bushes, and trees alike were burned in the flames that billowed forth from the dragon's throat. Thankfully, Darkovia wood is very resistant to fire, so forest fires were non-existent.

Bryce barely dodged the flames with his jump, and when he landed he drew his larger sword from the sheath on his back and held it in both hands before charging into the clearing. He was to the dragon's left, but the dragon quickly turned so that they were facing one another.

"Good," it breathed, little wisps of fire licking the air with every breath it took, "I was hoping that this would not be over as quickly as the last three." It lunged towards him, and just as it came in reach it shot out its neck in a quick thrust. Bryce had figured that it would do this, and he quickly stepped to the side. The dragon's enormous jaws closed just inches from Bryce's body, and he even felt a mild discomfort as some of his chest fur was caught in its teeth. As soon as the jaws snapped shut, Bryce ran forward and leapt into the air. He swung his sword behind him and smashed it into the dragon's neck with all of the strength he possessed.

To his chagrin, the sword barely went a foot into the Dragon's iron-hard scales, and its neck was at least five times as large. When he tried to pull the sword out again, however, he found that nothing he could do would dislodge it from where it steadfastly held the line. In a way, he admired his sword's determination, but far more he wished that it would give up the fight and withdraw so that they could assault the enemy again.

The time Bryce spent trying to unfasten his sword, however, was far too much. The dragon brought one of its arms back, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground. He gasped at the sheer strength of the dragon, but he regained enough composure to roll over when the dragon tried to pin him to the ground with its claws, and then fling himself as far away from the beast as a single leap could take him. When Bryce landed from his jump, he felt the ground around him shaking and spun around the see the dragon charging at him once again, only this time it was somehow running on its hind legs with its forelegs and neck coiled for attack.

Bryce readied himself and ducked under the first slash from a hand before leaping into the air, dodging above the second slash, and then flipping in the air to just barely dodge the dragon's snapping jaws. He finished the flip securely on the dragon's back, where he thought that he could have an advantage. He pulled his second sword from its sheath, but before he could put it to any use the dragon swung its tail up and wrapped it around him. He immediately realized the futility of struggling. The tail was many times stronger than he was. The dragon laughed as it brought him in front of it. A sneer was on its snout.

"I've got five limbs, fool. Did they really think that you were strong enough to defeat me? Although I must admit that you're stronger than all the ones before you. For some reason they usually send weak ones to me. Still, now at least I'll feast well."

Bryce tried struggling, even if it was just out of principle. The dragon squeezed him painfully with it's tail, and his muscles clenched together as he was slowly crushed. Then they expanded back out just a moment as the tail relaxed, and it was at that moment that Bryce smiled and shifted into his normal form. The dramatic change in mass sent him just under the tail's grip as it snapped together right above his head. Bryce ran towards the bushes as he tried to think of a plan. Brute strength seemed extremely useless in this fight. He got out of the clearing and then quickly ran around the cover for a bit before finding a good tree to slump behind. He subconsciously slipped into his elf form, and let his special eyesight sweep over the forest. The dragon was still searching for him, but his change in scent had it disoriented.

Still, this seemed to be a pointless battle. There did not seem to be an obvious way to beat this dragon, and he could not run away. As he was absently scanning the forest, however, he came across a herd of animals. He could see their life flow through them, and he suddenly got an idea. He wondered why he had forgotten about what he had been so long ago. He had to think back; back to before he had become a werewolf; back even to before he had become a vampire slayer. He went back to when he spent his second century of life devoted to the ways of a druid. The memories came flooding back to him, and he expanded the scope of his mind. He sent his consciousness directly to the herd of animals, and he wasted no time in contacting the alpha male.

It expressed great surprise at his intrusion upon its mind, but in moments it eagerly welcomed him. He spoke in a language that was not his own, but that was somehow a universal language. Any person or animal, after hearing this language, would be able to understand it and respond.

'Beast, I have need of your help. I am a druid, and I am in a dire situation. I desire for you and your herd to assist me in my battle.'

The animal was able to give a gruff response in the same language. It was barely intelligible, but Bryce was half surprised that he could understand it at all. 'We help…and you give…Blessing?'

This one was rather intelligent. Bryce had half suspected that it would know about the blessing, though, and he was prepared to give it to them. 'Yes. I will give you the blessing in exchange for your aid, but I warn you that many of your herd may die if you help me in my fight with a fire-breathing dragon.'

'Swear that you will give blessing.' The beast was single-minded, but almost all were.

'I swear by the leaf, branch, and root that I, Bryce Kyrcerin, will bestow upon you and your herd the Eternal Gift if you assist me in my fight.' This was more than just a sentence. Saying it meant that Bryce would have to do what he said. He was bound to follow his word now, no matter what.

Its mind flowed over with joy. 'We help.'

Bryce would have been happier had the dragon not been very close to him at that moment. In fact, it had just recaptured his scent, and was very, very close to him.

Morazar was angry. Not only had the werewolves sent a weak werewolf after him, they had also sent a cowardly one. Well maybe it was time to teach those werewolves some proper respect. He would find them and start killing them one by one…But what was that noise?

Bryce heard the noise as well, and he smiled. 'Good,' he thought, 'they're coming.' The dragon swiveled its head around to inspect the sound just when Bryce leapt from the bushes and shifted into his first class form, he silently charged the dragon, but just when he was close enough the wind changed, and his scent pervaded its nostrils. It jerked its head back and grinned. "Fool."

It charged him and shot out its head again. Bryce dropped to the ground on his chest, feeling the heat of the dragon's breath pass over him as its jaws swept past him. The dragon moved to smash him with its claws, but before it could Bryce gathered his feet under him and sprang onto the underside of the dragon's neck, clenching all of his claws into it and piercing through its softer scales. He then latched his jaws onto where its Adam's apple was, but he could just barely feel his teeth sinking into it. The dragon roared, blowing fire into the air, and grabbed Bryce with one of its hands. Its hand almost covered his entire torso, and it tried to pull him off. Even with all of its strength, though, Bryce refused to let go. He felt like his fingers, arms, and head would be ripped off at any moment, but he still stubbornly held on.

Then, with one final roar, the dragon ripped him from it and flung him to the side. Before it had fully accomplished that, however, Bryce had let go with one hand and grabbed onto his large sword that was still stuck into its neck. Amazingly, Bryce managed to land on his feet, and he stood up in his battle stance. The dragon slowly walked closer to him, not close enough for Bryce to attack it, but close enough for him to hear its wheezing voice and see the blood that dripped from its throat. Five large holes were oozing blood from where Bryce had been latched on, and the cut from his sword was made larger by its dislodgment as well. The dragon looked him over before speaking in a low voice.

"You have turned out to be very tenacious, werewolf, but that does not change the fact you are weak. You've survived longer than the others, but you will still die like they did."

The dragon inhaled deeply, and backed up, trying to get the maximum range for its fire, but it had only begun to fully inflate its lungs when dozens of figures burst from the forest and ran at it. They ran at the dragon with abandon, and began to bash themselves into its side. At first, the dragon was unaffected save to be very confused, but then a look of alarm flashed through its eyes and it wobbled on its legs. Some of the figures ran under it and slammed themselves into its right side limbs and that, along with the rest of them battering themselves against its right side, was finally too much for the dragon. It toppled over, and in moments the figures were swarming over it. The dragon swiveled its head around to release his fire and incinerate all of these pestering animals, but just then Bryce and several of the largest of them leapt at it and grabbed onto its snout, wrapping their arms around it so that it could not even open its mouth.

One of the figures was right in front of the dragon's eye, and this gave it the chance to finally see just what these things were. They were minotaurs.

'That makes no sense.' Morazar could not help thinking to himself. 'Why would minotaurs help a werewolf.'

He tried to struggle against them, snapping his tail and cutting several of them in half, but eventually they had pinioned each of his limbs to the ground, and he could do nothing. He saw the werewolf let go of his jaw, as another minotaur took his place, and pick his large sword back up. Morazar's eyes widened as it finally reached him that he would be killed. His fear made him renew his effort. He thrashed and fought with all of his considerable might, but no matter how hard he tried and how Herculean his strength was, the masses of minotaurs always kept him down.

The werewolf walked up to Morazar's chest and lifted his sword before plunging it in. Morazar let out a roar that sounded through his clenched teeth, and molten tears fell from his eyes. The werewolf kept plunging the sword into him, and each thrust sent agony throughout his entire frame. Then the werewolf shoved its hand into his chest and ripped out his heart, and the entire world went black.

Bryce did not exactly know what to do with the heart, since it was huge, but he eventually decided that he should leave it alone, seeing as he did not know if the dragon would come back to life without its heart. He placed the heart back into the chest cavity while feeling a little foolish. He had not meant to do that. He had wanted to reason with the dragon and eventually just bite it and have it become turned eventually. Now he could only hope that the dragon would come back to life as a werewolf eventually. He dropped back to the ground with exhaustion and morphed into his normal werewolf form. The minotaurs slowly left the lifeless dragon and gathered around him in a circle. Bryce knew what they wanted, and he also knew that they deserved it. The alpha male stepped out of the circle and stood before Bryce.

Bryce smiled, and shifted to his elf form while contacting the minotaur with his mind. As soon as the connection was established, Bryce was almost overwhelmed by the elation that flowed through to him from it. It was actually smiling in its mind.

'You…Give gift now.' It sounded like it might have been a question or a command, but Bryce could not tell.

'You realize that if I give you this gift, you must serve me for the rest of your lives or until I release you, do you not?' Bryce wanted to make sure that they knew what they were asking for.

It almost laughed. 'Yes, small price.'

Bryce sighed. 'Very well, by the leaf, branch, and root, I hereby grant you and your herd the gifts of intelligence, feeling, and most importantly, of a soul.' As soon as he spoke it Bryce felt his energy flow from him, exhausting him even more. He had felt completely drained before, but now he could feel his very life force being stolen from him and transferred to the animals. Such was the price of the gift; it took some of the caster's very soul to supply it to others.

When it was over the minotaurs looked at one another as if for the first time. Some began laughing, and some began crying. They patted each other on the back, knelt on the ground, jumped with joy, or just stood in place and stared at the world around them with new understanding. The leader walked up to where Bryce was panting on the ground and stared at him. Tears were in his eyes.

"Thank you, master, you have saved us. My name is Brokenhoof, and my herd and I are forever in your debt. All of our lives and the lives of our children will be spent trying to repay you, though we know that we will never be able to come close to what you have done for us today."

Its sudden understanding of his language did not surprise Bryce. It was customary for animals to glean knowledge from their masters. He smiled even though he felt like grimacing. He had never given the gift to anyone besides Ben before, and he felt like a part of him was missing. He still felt glad for these…people, though. "I haven't saved you Brokenhoof, I may even have damned you. You have a soul now, but you are the ones who must decide how to use it. Had you lived your lives as animals, you would have died blissfully and returned to the earth, but now you must face eternity when death overcomes you." He did not know why he was waxing philosophical, but he figured it was because he was tired. "I thank you, though, because without your herd's help, I may have had to face eternity far sooner than I wish to."

"It was our pleasure, master, and we now know well what we have been given. We would gladly spend our lives finding a way to deal with eternity. Like I said, you have given us the greatest gift we'll ever receive, and we will think about your words. Is there anything you would like us to do?"

Bryce looked worriedly at the dragon's corpse. "Well, I guess it would be smart to do something with the dragon. I don't really know how to convert anything to being a werewolf, let alone a dragon. I guess it would be best to try to drag it to the werewolf lair and see what they have to say about it."

"I am completely capable of bringing myself to the lair, Deathfang."

Bryce spun around to see the dragon raise itself from the ground. It looked different than it had moments before, and Bryce noticed splotches of brown amongst its red scales. The splotches slowly spread, and Bryce saw that it was fur. The dragon's scales fell to the ground as more fur grew from under it, and eventually the dragon was completely covered with brown, and its eyes were slowly but completely overtaken by black. What eventually stood before Bryce was a strange mixture of werewolf and dragon, and it was somehow even larger and stronger than it had been before.

Bryce stared at the large were-dragon in front of him with awe.

"Yes," it chuckled at his surprise. "I'm rather surprised at this change within myself as well, but it is welcome. I feel stronger than ever, and I cannot help but feel invincible. As thanks for showing me this new existence, please allow me to fly you back to the lair."

Bryce smiled back at the were-dragon. So many strange things had been happening that he could only cope by smiling. "Sure, thanks, you minotaurs are going to have catch up later now that you know where it is. Well, let's go… What's your name anyway?"

The dragon knelt down to let Bryce board it. "My name is Nightwing, and what if yours?"

"Bryce." He did not know why he did, but Bryce just felt like telling someone his real name.

"Strange name for a werewolf. Well, Bryce, I think that we will be good friends." As soon as Bryce settled into the niche on Nightwing's neck, the dragon leapt into the air and beat its leathery wings, propelling both of them into the air faster than Bryce had ever imagined to be possible. He felt elation. He would soon be back in the werewolf lair, the first werewolf to capture a werewolf, and he would be able to see Serenade again.


	14. Scum

14

Scum

Lupine walked back and forth in front of Serenade, as if she were a general informing her troops that the enemy was near. She was looking down, and her hands were behind her back. In all, she looked a silly sight, especially with no clothes. Serenade could not dwell on this, though, because Lupine was talking to her rapidly.

"Alright, since Deathfang left, it's up to me to find some official royal business for you to do to protect you and to keep you from getting fat and lazy." She looked up and flashed Serenade a smile just so that she would notice her humor and not be offended. "Unfortunately, Deathfang left orders that you would not have to do any hard labor, so I can't send you into the mines like I was planning to." Another smile. "I've decided to give you a very easy but very dangerous job."

Serenade perked up after hearing that it would be dangerous. "What do you want me to do?"

Lupine chuckled. "You're a spunky one aren't you? Well, it's been awhile since we've had vampire prisoners, since we basically kill anything we defeat and they reciprocate. Unfortunately, we got the proper way to hold them wrong the first time we placed them in prison, and they killed the one bringing them blood. We've got it now, though, and I'm sure they'd never hurt a doll like you. Your new job is to bring them blood every day." She stopped pacing and smiling, and looked Serenade in the eye. "Now you see why this is dangerous. Do you accept the job?"

Serenade thought it would be fun. "Sure."

Lupine chuckled. "I knew you would go for it. You'll be delivering it to them once a day at about…Now." She produced a jug of blood on a platter with three cups from nowhere Serenade cared to guess. "Take these down to the jail as quickly as you can. Just go down to the lowest floor, that's the dungeon part, show this necklace to the first class guard, fill up three cups, and give them to them. Don't bother taking them back when they're finished. If they don't accept it, then just place it within arms' reach and leave. Once you're done giving them the blood, you can head back to your house. Got it? Everything clear?"

"Yep," Serenade affirmed. "I do have one question, though. What if they…"

"Attack you?" Lupine finished for her. Serenade nodded. "No need to worry about that. A long time ago we had some of our best mages create an abundance of shackles that cancel out our powers. They rob us of our strength and our ability to transform. We didn't know if it'd work on the vampires, but we just found out that we needed two pairs of shackles instead of just one when they killed the guy we sent earlier. They still lost strength from one, though, so two should be enough to keep them subdued. Besides, you'll have a first class werewolf with you. Now, get over there before the blood gets cold."

Serenade made a face, not wanting to think about why it was hot in the first place. She took the platter and the necklace that showed she was doing official royal business. After that she said farewell to Lupine and got dressed before heading out. As she walked past throngs of werewolves, she was never happier for the fluke in the rules that allowed her to wear clothes. She knew that it was bad manners, but she did not want to be always walking around with no clothes on. She also noticed that most of the other slaves were dressed as well, and that the werewolves were usually in their furry form. In all, the streets of the werewolf lair were far more decent than she had first imagined when Lupine had told them about the rules.

She was thankful also for the first couple days she had spent with Bryce learning the lay of the werewolf lair. With her experience she knew exactly where the jail was and how to get there quickly. She deftly wove through the crowd without dropping the platter or spilling any blood. She smiled as she moved through them. She had been practicing her weaving skills whenever she went out, and was glad to see that she was improving. At first she had been very wary of being in public with so many killers, but now she was fairly comfortable with it. Most of the werewolves were actually rather nice to her, so she had only to watch out for the ones who looked like they ate babies for breakfast. As long as she could spot those and steer clear of them, she knew that she would be fine.

In a few minutes she was in front of the jail. The guards there looked bright and serious, for once. It had been awhile since they had anything to do, and they did not want to let this opportunity pass them by. They made a great show of checking the necklace she had, but in the end they let her through and a hulking first class guided her through the doors and down a long flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a large gate. The first class took out a key from the pouch hooked to his belt and stuck it into the keyhole. There was a loud creaking, but eventually the door swung open, eliciting even more squeaks of protest and disuse.

As Serenade walked into the room, she saw the three vampires. They looked thoroughly dejected. They were sitting with their backs against the walls, with shackles around their wrists and ankles. Their clothes were ripped in places, a few of them still had caked blood on them, and all of their heads were looking down. In all, they looked nothing like the vampire that she had seen. She felt silly now. She derided herself for thinking that one of them would be like him, or even that one would be him. She did not know why she even thought that. Sometimes her imagination went away with her.

She walked up to the edge of the cage and called out in her happiest voice. "Lunchtime." One of them lifted his hand and his middle finger in greeting, and the other simply kept looking down, but the one closest to her looked up. When their eyes locked his widened and she almost dropped the platter she had been so studiously keeping afloat. It was him. Him! 'Why's he here.' She felt like panicking, as their were eyes still connected to one another. 'He can't be here, shouldn't be here.' She calmed herself, though, and when she spoke it was with more calm than she felt.

"Fancy seeing you here, come here often?" She smiled, almost sarcastically. She wondered just how much their situations had changed, but maybe it was the circumstances of their meeting that had made her lose something. He seemed so different form the enigmatic savior she had pictured in the darkness of night. She actually found it hard to connect this creature to that vampire. He looked at her longer, but then he looked away.

"How did you get here?" He was staring at the wall across from him.

"Oh, you know," she set down the platter next to the bars. "Same old story. Girl meets boy, boy turns out to be a killer, boy is killed by vampire, vampire tells girl to become a man and leaves, girl joins paladins, comes home, and meets elf, elf turns out to be a werewolf, captures girl, and now girl and elf live with the werewolves." It sounded strange to be saying it like that, but that was what had basically happened.

He tried to smile, but could not quite make it, so he nodded silently and took the cup she offered. He motioned for the other two to do the same, and they grudgingly accepted the cups from her.

"Nice ass." One of them remarked as he crawled back to his wall.

"Prime." The other sipped his blood and stared at the floor. It was almost as if they were doing it out of duty, and not because they enjoyed it. Serenade ignored them, and focused all of her attention on the vampire. The one who had saved her, and had seemed so mysterious. He had said one thing and changed her life forever. He had sent her to the paladins to become one, and now she stood over him, looking down at the bloody mess that he was.

"I never got to thank you for saving me back then. I'd just like to say thanks for saving me from that creep, and for giving me a reason to live. Also, I never did get your name. Mine's Serenade and I…" She trailed off as he looked back at her and it seemed like they had looked at each other for the first time. She stared at his red eyes, and they seemed to be deep wells. It was like he had bottomless pits inside his eyes and that if she looked into them for too long she would be swallowed. She wanted to look away, to tear her eyes from his death grip, but before she could even think of a way to escape she was caught. She felt like she had felt so long ago. Even in his bloody and pathetic state, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen before, and she knew that she would do anything for him.

The first class noticed her silence and walked up behind her before addressing her. "Your work is done here, missy, you can leave now. Hey, what's wron—" His words were cut off by three cups slamming into his face. The cups barely fazed him, but they did stun him long enough for Serenade to spin around and slam the jar of blood into the side of his head. As the blood entered his eyes and he had to close them, she snatched the keys from his pouch and quickly put the first one she could find into the lock. It did not work. She frantically switched keys, but before she tried to next one the vampire shot out his hands, grabbed the keys from her, and stuck one into the lock.

"Turn it." He commanded.

She spun the key and the door opened. She ran in, and the vampire grabbed the keys from her, selected one, and handed it back to her. "Unlock my hands with that."

She unlocked his hands, but even as the shackles fell away she heard the werewolf growl and charge after them. She looked down at her hands, but the keys were no longer in them. Then she looked to the vampire for help, but he was no longer there as well. In his place was a large demon. Its wings were just bursting from its back and horns curling from its head. As soon she saw it, the spell that had been cast by the vampire's eyes wore off, and Serenade finally saw what she had been doing.

The werewolf had not seen the vampire take off his ankle shackles, and so it was surprised when they were suddenly on the ground in front of him and the vampire was in its Other form. He stumbled for a moment in his shock, and the vampire did not waste that. He flew forward with speed the werewolf could only have guessed at.

As Damian launched himself at the werewolf, he almost felt bad for using the girl, Serenade, almost. These kinds of thoughts fled from his head, however, as he slammed his right hand into the werewolf with a brutal punch. The first class fell back, and Damian followed it while raining down punches, knees, and the occasional head butt as they flew back. The werewolf tried to attack back, but Damian's barrage of attacks were too much for it. They kept moving backwards until they hit a wall, and once they did Damian renewed his attacks with a fury. He slammed his fists into the werewolf's face again and again, and then he brought his arm back and slammed his elbow into its teeth. He felt and heard the teeth leave their moorings, but he gave it no time to recover. He pulled back a leg before kneeing it in its stomach, causing it to double over, and uppercutting it back up. Then, in a fit of bloodlust, he grabbed the werewolf by its shoulders and pulled it towards him as he shot his head forward. He tilted his head slightly to the side and felt his horn smash into the werewolf's snout as it roared in pain. Its face collapse under the weight of his attack, and when it slumped to the floor Damian knew it was beaten.

He reverted back into his normal state and walked back to where Leon and Raphael were just getting themselves unlocked.

"He's yours." He said with a tired voice.

"Booya'" Leon and Raphael ran to the werewolf and quickly clawed out its heart. They divided it and shared it between them. As they marveled at their newfound strength, Damian turned to Serenade. She stood in front of him and looked at him. Shock and disgust were in her eyes.

"I'm sorry that I had to use you like that, Serenade." He looked down, not knowing what else to say.

"You're just like them. Just like all of them. Just like Mike." He saw tears running down her cheeks. He saw her scar, and he saw her biting her lip. He knew that what he had done was unforgivable, so he did not try more what he had done. He calmly walked past her and gathered up the shackles. He was headed back out when he stopped in front of her. She still stared past him, at the wall behind him. The tears were running down her neck.

"Serenade. My name is Damian, I am a first class vampire."

"Uh-huh." She still would not look at him.

"Do you know where they are keeping our weapons?"

He saw the hate on her face, and it hurt him more than words could describe to know that it was for him. She still pointed to the stairs, though. "There's an armory at the top, I bet they're there."

"Thank you, Serenade." Damian tried to walk past her, but he had to stop. He turned back. She was still looking at the wall, her mouth and hands clenched. "They'll kill you if you stay after having released us. You could come with us. We'd make sure that you'd—"

"Just Go!" She screamed at him as she wrenched her gaze from the wall and stared at him. "Just leave me you damn vampire. You used me like all of the others, now just leave me in peace!" She was walking towards him. She was screaming and crying and beating his chest. "Leave me with someone who actually cares, who'd never use me or hurt me again! He promised! He promised! He's not scum like you! Bryce's not like you! He promised!" Her blows became weaker as she slowly slumped to the floor with he hands over her face, sobbing and calling out Bryce's name.

Damian followed her to the ground with his eyes. He looked down at her as she sobbed. "I am sorry, Serenade." Was all he could say before he stiffly turned around and walked with the other two vampires up the stairs.

"Shoulda' killed her." Raphael remarked after they began scaling the stairs.

"Not now, Raphael." Leon looked worriedly at Damian, but he simply turned to the other two and looked at them before sprinting away up the stairway. They cursed and began running as well. The three of them quickly traversed the stairs, but the werewolf's roars had reached those above before they made it, and they could see werewolves pouring from the opening at the top of the stairs. Damian knew that they were weak, and he shifted into his Other form and shot ahead of his companions. He slammed into the werewolves and they fell away with each attack he thrust into them. Leon and Raphael followed behind him as fast as they could, beating down stragglers and switching between their weapons until they found ones that they liked. The weapons were not silver, but they would help.

Damian smashed each werewolf that presented itself to him aside in wild abandon. He wanted to kill them and maim them until he did not need to think. No matter how many of the killed, though, and no matter how fast he scaled the stairway, he still heard her words.

"You're just like them." "He's not scum like you." "Scum."

He closed his eyes and grimaced. Why did he care so much? She was just…Just a human.

"Scum."

Before he knew it, he was at the end of the stairs, but they had closed the Iron Gate in preparation. With a growl, Damian slammed into the gate. His horns smashed into it, and it bent into itself. He smashed his hands into the gate as many times as he could, wailing on it with all of his frustration. The pain in his hands that stemmed from ramming them into steel somehow comforted him a bit. The gate bent and groaned and creaked, but eventually the stones that it was attached to gave way and it fell through. The werewolves had already fallen back and closed another gate not ten feet away. Damian smiled in anticipation of devouring them, but then he saw the metal ends of crossbows being pushed through the holes of the gate. Then his smile widened and he stuck both hands in front of him and intoned a phrase with lightning speed.

As soon as the words left his mouth fire burst from his hands. He had never cast magic in this state, so he had no idea what to expect, but he had never even suspected this. The flames filled the entire hallway, and even though the werewolves fired their crossbows, the quarrels melted in the heat of the inferno Damian had created. The werewolves tried to run, but many were burned to crisps.

Damian ripped the next gate from its hinges and ran along the hallways until he reached what looked like the entrance to the jail. Once there he could feel his Other form straining at him, so he morphed back down. Leon and Raphael caught up to him quickly, and together they searched the rooms around until they opened a door and found it full of weapons. They quickly spotted their weapons, and in seconds they were back in their earlier equipment. Damian still had the shackles with him, amazingly, so he passed them between the three of them as they ran out of the room.

Once they entered the main room again, though, Damian stopped and stared. The werewolf Queen, who he had recently had an audience with, had just entered the room with four handmaidens. He had not seen her as a human, but he knew that crown. She looked at him with surprise in her eyes, but before she could shift back into her werewolf form, Damian was in front of her, his arm grabbing hers. He spun her around, pulled her arms behind her back, and clasped the shackles onto her. The handmaidens quickly shifted into werewolf form and began to move forward, but they paused when Damian pulled out his knife and held it to her throat.

"I heard that these shackles keep you from Turning. So unless you want your pretty Queen's blood on your hands, turn back to humans and let us capture you." He almost had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded right.

For a moment they hesitated, but then, one by one, they morphed back and allowed Leon and Raphael to lock the rest of the shackles onto them. Most of them were only fifth class, with only one first class, but Damian figured that it was better for them to be captured than not.

"Now we're headed out of here." They lead their captives out of the jail and into the street, where Damian found out just where all of the werewolves who had escaped had been. All around them, werewolves were loping and sprinting towards them. Damian and the others quickly moved to the middle of the street, so that they were away from objects that could be used to ambush them. The werewolves ran towards them, but each of them stopped when it saw the captive that Damian was holding. They unconsciously formed a circle around the vampires with a distance of about thirty feet between them. Damian could tell that they were waiting for something. It was obvious that none of them wanted to let the vampires go, but they also did not want the Queen's blood on their hands. They milled about restlessly in their indecision.

Damian was pleased to know that they would not harm him and the others, but he also did not want to jeopardize what has going on. He had no idea how to deal with these things.

Even as he was wondering how to get out of his position, though, a split began to be formed on one side of them. When the split reached them, Damian saw a gray werewolf walk out from among the others and stand fifteen feet away from him. It looked very old, with its gray fur patchy in some places and countless scars across its body. Even with its obvious age, though, Damian could tell that it was a first class werewolf, and the fact that it chose to use its normal form disturbed him. When it spoke, its voice seemed to belay its age.

"Hail vampire," he called out with a voice full of life and vigor. "I am Scar, werewolf first class, survivor of the Werepyre wars, general of the werewolf army, and fifth werewolf to be created. Surrender now, only death awaits you if you continue on this path of folly. If you give up now, I will assure you that you will be allowed to live." He tried to take a step forward, but Damian brought his knife to the Queen's neck, cutting it just enough for blood to begin to flow down.

"I'm Damian, first class, a rather new vampire. I am the leader of a squad that was originally seven. No way in hell. Only death awaits your Queen if you keep moving forward." He looked around, trying to figure out the mood of the crowd and also where he was. "And that goes for the rest of you as well. I would like free passage out of here for my men and I. I am afraid that if any of us die, I will drink the blood from her open throat."

Scar looked undecided. It was obvious that he was fighting with himself inside. Then, however, the queen herself spoke for the first time. "Give them what they want, Scar." Her voice did not tremble or break, in fact, she sounded like she was ordering something from a store, as if nothing were wrong.

Scar's eyes widened. "But your majesty!"

She cut him off. "I have complete faith in you, Ghost, and my husband. The three of you will find a way to bring me back, I know that you will."

Scar looked at her, the helplessness in his eyes evident. He had no response to give her, however, so he directed his gaze back to Damian. "Please do not do this, Damian. Your actions could lead to more bloodshed than you could possibly imagine. Please, for the sake of your life, our lives, and the lives of your people, please release her."

Damian chuckled. "What is the life of a scum like me worth anyway? For that matter, what are the lives of all of my race worth? Death is what we were made for, Scar, and death is what we must do. Both of our races are no nothing more than death and killing, and we are both evil. What loss is all of our deaths? Now promise us safe passage."

He could see sorrow in Scar's eyes. "Very well, young one, but I hope that one day you will see that there is more to even our existence than extinction." He turned to all of the werewolves around him. "Do as your Queen commands, let them pass."

None of the werewolves enjoyed the order, but every one of them stopped their restless jostling, and one end, the one that Scar had come from, opened up again. The crowd parted as Scar beckoned to Damian.

"The exit is that way."

Damian motioned for him to join the circle, and when he did the vampires and their captives began to move towards the split in the crowd at an agonizingly slow pace. To Damian, it seemed like every werewolf that ever existed was gathered around them, and the prospect of walking through all of them was more than a little daunting. As they walked though the gap being made for them, Damian looked around and saw nothing but hate in the eyes of all those around him. He knew that, if they wanted to, they could easily rush him and the others and rip them apart. He also knew that they would not attempt it, however, because he would kill their queen seconds before they ripped him apart.

It was a disturbing feeling, being on the knife's edge between life and death with only the debatable self-control of thousands of werewolves keeping him alive. Somewhere in him, though, he almost wished they would rush him. He wanted to be able to slit her throat and then die, or maybe he just wanted to die. He could not tell at the moment. He was caught between his disgust for himself and his rage at the world, and all he could do was inch forward with his hostage held in front of him like a shield. She had called him scum, and she had been right. He was scum. They were all scum.

He came to a crossroads of streets, and since he had no idea which one to take, he looked around for someone to ask.

"Go right." The Queen said softly, before he could find a suitable candidate. "The exit is straight in front of you if you just keep walking."

Damian had no idea what to say, so he just nodded his head and chose the right path. They all walked along that road, with even more werewolves on each side of them, until they reached the large doors that signaled the end of the lair. At the Queen's behest, the werewolves guarding the door opened it for them, and then, at Damian's command, they closed them after they had passed through.

When the sliver of light from the torches inside the door finally became darkness, Damian and the others were presented with an immediate split in the caverns. Both paths split into other paths, and those curved right as they started. Damian paused as he surveyed the two paths for a moment. Both looked completely identical, and he was at a loss as to which to take. He turned to the Queen, who was looking at him contemptuously.

"Which way leads out of here?" He had put his knife away, but he still held her by the chain between her wrists. She stared at him, then blinked.

"Left."

He was about to lead her left when he stopped, looked around, and motioned to Raphael and Leon. "Send the handmaidens first." They smiled, walked in front of him with their charges, and pushed them forward. The four women tentatively started to walk forward, but they moved slower the farther along they went. Eventually Damian sighed and waved at Raphael, who pulled his swords from his sheaths and walked forward menacingly. He grinned and began spinning his sword at his wrists. He spun them around him, moving his arms around his body as he walked towards the handmaidens and they huddled together. They had stopped moving now, and were watching Raphael walk towards them with his swords waving in the air in front of him. The tension was almost malleable, and it continued to build as he got closer to them until eventually one broke down and yelled out.

"Stop! This isn't the right way. There's a trap. It's the other way. Please let us go!" She was crying, and her eyes were wide with fear.

Raphael stopped and looked back at Damian, who nodded. He quickly sheathed his swords and walked up to them before guiding them back. Damian looked at the queen, who stared back at him defiantly.

"Do it." His face was impassive.

Both Leon and Raphael grinned this time, as they whipped out their weapons and Raphael stabbed his two blades through the back of one of the handmaidens, who had not spoken, a second before Leon separated her head from her body. Her head sailed through the air and hit the wall with a thud before rolling back and staring at her body, which was spraying blood all over the other handmaidens until Raphael ripped his swords out of it and it fell to the ground, blood pooling in front of it. One of the handmaidens screamed, and the three left alive huddled even closer to each other, looking at their captors in horror. Damian looked back at the Queen, who looked visibly shaken, but not excessively or even adequately so. Her face was placid even when Leon and Raphael dug their claws into the handmaiden's chest and took her heart before dividing it between the two of them.

She spoke first. "You…You…"

"Scum?" Damian finished for her with a shadow of a smile. "This is what will happen every time you give us false directions out of here. We will continue to kill them, and if in the end we run out of them we will send you down the caverns and will begin to take your fingers if the way is false, is this understood?"

"Yes." Her voice was unnaturally calm.

Only one handmaiden was left by the time they reached the throat of the giant wolf they inhabited. The handmaiden left was caked in the blood of her comrades and trembling. Once again, Damian stopped the group before the reached it's mouth. The Queen was still being led by the shackles, but now she walked beside him, as if she were finally resigned to her fate. When they stopped, she did not wait for him to ask, but addressed Stone Wolf.

"Stone Wolf, these three vampires have my permission to leave this compound." As she said the words, her head drooped slightly.

A low chuckle reverberated from somewhere Damian did not care to guess. The dead end in front of them slowly opened to reveal the outside world. It was not until Damian saw the moon-encased trees and ground that he realized just how mush he had missed them in his time inside the caverns. He felt free as he led the Queen out of Stone Wolf's mouth, down its tongue, and onto the ground.

Once they cleared its mouth, Stone Wolf let out a barking laugh. "Ah, finally, the vampires actually do something. Capturing the Queen, now that's a laugh. I congratulate you, Damian, first class; Leon, second class; and Raphael, second class. May your journey back to your land be a safe one and be devoid of your inevitable deaths." He looked back at the two vampires and chuckled. "You look ravishing in that form, Victoria, as do you, Sarah."

Damian smiled for the first time in his recent memory. "Our thanks, Stone Wolf. May you eventually break free of your bonds. I hope that I am not around when that happens, though."

He could hear it laughing as the three of them began sprinting into the forest towards vampire territory. He carried the Queen on his back, and Leon and Raphael both carried the last handmaiden between them. The three of them ran with equal speed with his burden being double theirs. They ran as fast as they could, trying to get as far away from that place as they could. Even as they ran, though, they failed to see the dark shape that flew against the night sky. It changed its direction from heading to the werewolf lair to following them, and they were oblivious.

- 13 -


	15. The Lich King

Been awhile since I said anything on here, let's see… Awhile back I said that I thought Othniel's theme song would have to be The Worm and the Bird by The Used, and I liked the way it sounded when I read stuff with him in it. That got me thinking about other characters, and I think that Sophitia's would have to be Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence. The tone of the song really fits her. Also, I think that Lidian's would have to be either Fully Alive or All Around Me, each of them are by Flyleaf. I've got others kinda' figured out, but I'll wait until they actually appear in chapters before I give those out.

15

The Lich King

Had it not been for the rest he had received the day before at another vampire way stop, Othniel was sure that he would have collapsed by now. That possibility was not far off as it was, and he was breathing erratically while the world in front of him blurred and shifted. He still ran on, though, doggedly determined to never quit before the woman who ran in front of him did. And, of course, she continued to run full-tilt through all of the miles without breaking her perfect form or stopping to catch her breath. That damned spell of hers.

Despite his heroic stoicism, Othniel was just about to ask for a quick rest when Sophitia abruptly stopped moving. They were in front of two trees that stood like sentinels on the sides of what Othniel could just barely make out to be a path. A tall mountain, presumably one of those that bordered Darkovia, shot into the sky not fifty feet away from them. The fact that this mountain was even there made Othniel wonder just how far they had run. He knew that they had been running for what seemed like forever, but this mountain seemed to indicate that they had crossed almost all of Darkovia while running. The thought gave just a bit of his shattered self-esteem back to him.

He staggered to a stop and placed his hands on his knees while panting. He did not feel like talking, and Sophitia did not appear to want to give him any information either, so he stood silently save for his pants and groans. When he was finally able to do anything, he looked up to see Sophitia weaving her hands in front of her with the two longest fingers of each pointed out. Trails of light briefly followed her fingers as she shot them back and forth in intricate patterns. Once she was apparently done, she stepped back and began to address what seemed to him to be the thin air.

"Necromancers, see that I stand at the border of your lands. I am a friend and a former companion. I ask for entrance to your lands and an audience with your current leader. If either I or my companion do any harm to you, then may our bones be unearthed and serve you forever in immortal silence as punishment for our crimes."

When she had finished, the two of them stood without speaking for tense seconds as nothing happened. Despite his resolve to not interrupt her, Othniel was feeling very uncomfortable just standing there. He was about to say something when two figures stepped out from behind the trees in front of them and approached them. The two of them looked completely identical, with dark black robes covering their entire bodies and most of their faces too. Each of them was also followed by a skeletal being, but unlike their owners, these were far from identical.

The skeleton on the left appeared to be vaguely humanoid in shape, but the inside of its skeletal chest was filled with bones that constantly shifted and it had a third arm that was somehow grafted onto one of it's ribs on its right side. It held a sword in one right arm and a large ax in the other two arms. The skeleton on the right was at first easily recognizable as a werewolf, but upon closer inspection it's fingers had been broken to the wrist and had been individually lengthened. Each of the fingers was as long as its forearm. Its jaw had been torn off and grafted back on several feet lower and this made room for its teeth, which looked like they were made from sharpened arm bones, and for the strange mandibles that constantly slid across the beast's maw.

The necromancer with the werewolf behind him threw back his hood and stepped forward. Othniel was relieved to see a smile on his surprisingly human face. The necromancer stopped a few feet away from them and faced Sophitia.

"Welcome home, lost one. I don't suppose that you are here because you wish to renounce your vampirism and retake your rightful place among us."

Sophitia returned his smile and walked up to him, clasping his arm in hers with a friendly handshake. "I may just at that, Darren, but for now all I ask is to talk with your current leader, as I said."

The other did not reveal her face as she addressed them from behind her cloak. "Very well, Darren, please escort them to their desired location."

Darren nodded and beckoned them to follow him. They walked further along the path, but just as they started, and Darren's werewolf came along behind them, Othniel could have sworn that he saw the other necromancer simply disappear along with her skeleton. He wanted to slow and look back, but Darren and Sophitia were already walking strenuously before him, and the werewolf following close—too close, if anyone were to ask him—behind him was subtly urging him onward. He sighed as another of life's mysteries passed him by and he was forced to start moving again. He was happy to be only walking, but at this point any movement was taxing for him.

'Great, just what I need, more freakin' running.' He knew that they were only walking swiftly, but the over-exaggeration almost made him feel better.

Thankfully, they did not have far to go. After a short while, Darren turned from the trail onto a smaller trail that led into the side of a cliff on the mountain, which Othniel just now noticed was very close to them. They must have been heading directly towards it. He wondered what Darren was doing, since he could tell that the trail ended against the sheer cliff in only about ten feet, but he was in no mood to question the master of the beast that still stalked quietly behind him.

For his part, Darren gave no explanation save to continue walking until he reached the cliff's face. He did not stop, but walked into the cliff. As Othniel gaped, Sophitia followed Darren's example, and before Othniel could try to make sense, the werewolf skeleton behind him grabbed him and walked towards the cliff. In an abstract sense, Othniel appreciated the way that the elongated fingers were perfectly fitted for capturing him, but more important to him at the moment was the ever-approaching cliff. As they came very close to it, he tensed for impact, but no pain enveloped him when he finally came into contact. When he felt nothing, he opened his eyes, just noticing that he had unconsciously closed them.

Light filtered through the open cave mouth behind him, and Othniel felt silly as the skeleton set him down. Darren and Sophitia stood a few feet in front of him. They were watching something, but from where he stood, Othniel could not see what it was. When he walked up to them, however, he gaped. He stood at the bottom of a hollowed out mountain. In front of him was a deep pit, and at the bottom of it he could see what looked like an arena. The ground of the arena was covered with bones, to the extent that Othniel was not sure how high the bones were stacked because the ground never showed through them.

Above him, though, was the true spectacle. The cavern corkscrewed upwards and upwards, slowly becoming smaller until it hit the top. A small glint of moonlight showed through a hole at the top. Crosswalks shot from one wall of the mountain to the other, and so many passed the expanse that they looked like a giant maze from where he stood. Large chains hung from many of the crosswalks, and they usually supported buildings, which blinked with light as they swung back and forth to a tuneless rhythm. Countless lights followed the curve of the two main walkways, which worked their way around the mountain. Even from where he stood, Othniel could see homes dotting the otherwise gray sides of the cavern as small points of color and light.

Sophitia turned to Othniel and smiled at him. It was easy to tell what she was thinking. She was glad to be home. When Othniel joined the two of them, Darren said that they should meet the leader as soon as possible, so he began to lead them up one of the two large pathways. As they walked, Othniel could not help but notice the humans around him.

There were humans walking up the main roads, across the bridges and crossways, or simply flying. There were old couples, silently roaming the halls while exchanging few comments. Their personal skeletons seemed almost as corroded as they were. They hobbled alongside their masters and provided support when needed. They usually held cloaks or canes rather than weapons. Children ran about, hung from the chains, and some even flew for short distances. Their skeletons were disparate things. They teetered on two bones that served as feetless legs, shambled forward with twenty or more bones as legs, or tried to hop and maintain their balance on only one bone. They looked like they might fall apart at any second, and many of them did from time to time, but once one did, its miniature master or mistress would immediately run to it and begin to fix it.

The younger adults walked about in couples, groups, or on their own. They appeared to be normal humans, with concerns, loves, dislikes, and lives. Their skeletons ranged from ones that looked like they might even be human to ones that barely had any recognizable shape. Othniel found it interesting how he could immediately tell the combatants from those who did not battle by their skeletons. The fighters always had unconventional creations that were festooned with weapons, while those that must have been civilians employed skeletons that seemed more down to earth. A few even had ones that were basically what a normal human skeleton would look like.

Othniel found it hard to not stare, and at one point Darren turned around and caught him looking at a necromancer couple that walked along with their hands clasped. Othniel felt eyes on him, and quickly shifted his gaze back to Darren, who laughed.

"You seem surprised, leech. Did you not expect a civilization here? Did you think that we would be a collection of huts surrounded with mounds of partially decomposed bodies? Did you think that we would be groups of old humans long ago lost in our depravity with no children because we sacrificed them to pagan gods?" He sneered.

"No." Othniel could think of nothing else to do, so he lied.

Darren did not appear at all convinced, but he shrugged and turned back to walking up the slanted, winding road. "Damn demon worshiper." He whispered as he continued walking. He may have not known about vampire's hearing, so it made Othniel wonder just what he meant by that comment if it was not meant as an insult. Before he could really ponder the problem, however, he was caught up again with the sights and sounds of the city as they continued to scale the inside of the mountain.

Othniel noticed that the houses, bridges, and even the state of the road improved as they got higher, and the necromancer's cloaks were more individually designed. The skeletons became even more exotic, with orcs, dwarves, dragons, vampires, what looked like octopuses, and every manner of unimaginable hybrids. There were also many monsters walking about that were still flesh now, from zombies that reeked of death to gargantuan creatures that looked as if they still might be alive. Othniel could not help but notice the change, and he wondered just what kind of class differences there were between those who lived at the bottom and those at the top.

He saw fewer warriors, and more luxury skeletons the higher they climbed, and eventually he saw necromancers walking with several special skeletons following them. He even saw one necromancer, with gold embroidering webbed all along his cloak, followed by almost forty individualized skeletons. He was almost impressed, until he saw the ten other necromancers who walked behind the apparently rich one. They wore normal cloaks, and their heads were bent down as if in deep thought. Othniel had never seen necromancers have to focus to control their personal skeletons, and he was forced to wonder just how many of those skeletons were being meticulously kept alive by the work of the lower-class necromancers.

He happened to glance to the side, and saw Sophitia watching the procession with some distress evident on her face. She seemed upset by what she was seeing, but she still calmly walked past the rich necromancer, and even answered his call to her. Similar appearances became even more common as they reached the final stretch of road before the end.

The necromancers living at the last part did not walk anymore. They rode upon either some skeletal beast or upon platforms carried by several skeletons. As usual, they were followed by dozens of specialized skeletons and a small group of huddled necromancers. Othniel saw Sophitia's face twist when she saw one of these, but she still remained studiously silent.

Then something strange happened. Not three hundred feet from where the road hit the ceiling, they passed what looked like the last of the necromancer nobility. Othniel had no idea if they were nobility or not, but he felt that they deserved the title. They passed by the man, who sat upon the palanquin held up by eight skeletons with four arms each, but he did not greet them, so they gave none in return. Both Othniel and Sophitia saw that the group of necromancers at the end of the amazingly long line of skeletons that followed the noble was struggling. Sweat lined their faces, and every now and again one would stumble. Othniel thought little of it; he had grown accustomed to even that sight lately, but then he saw one of the necromancers stumble and fall to the ground. The necromancer hit the ground with a thud not ten feet away from him and Sophitia, and sprawled along the cobbled road.

The three of them stopped, and Othniel was about to go to the necromancer and help her, for he saw that it was a woman by the length of her copper red hair, when he heard a shout and looked back behind him. At the front of the procession, the necromancer noble was lying on the floor as well. Apparently, the necromancer that had collapsed had been in charge of several of the skeletons holding up the palanquin, and when she collapsed, they did the same. The palanquin had toppled over, and now the necromancer noble was lying on the ground.

He swiftly got to his feet and looked over at the group of necromancers, who now stood stock-still in astonishment. As soon as the noble saw the woman lying on the ground, his face contorted in rage and he scrambled to his feet. He walked stiffly towards her, and Othniel could see his blood red face from where he was. As he walked, the noble motioned to one of the largest skeletons, which saddled up to him. Othniel noticed that the skeleton had two spinal cords, and though that was strange, until he noticed the noble grab one of them mid-stride and yank it out. The spinal cord went limp immediately, and as the noble flexed it in his hand, Othniel noticed with instantaneous clarity that it was a whip.

When the noble reached the woman, she was just barely beginning to get to her feet. With a quick motion of his hand, the noble had two skeletons help her up. The skeletons held her by each of her arms, and the noble lifted her chin with his free hand until she was looking him in the eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, lord." She began to say, but before she could say more, he cut her off with a shout.

"Sorry? Sorry! I pay you good money to just walk there and keep my skeleton creations animated. I pay you well for such a simple task, but what do you do? You let go of your control, and threw me from my throne. You're not sorry, not yet." When he was finished, he chopped his hand in the air and the two skeletons holding her turned her around until her back was facing him. Another skeleton walked forward and used the sharpened bones it possessed instead of hands to slice open the back of her cloak. The robe fell around her as a line of blood flowed down her back from the cut the skeleton had made. As the noble raised the spinal cord, Darren hesitatingly walked in front of the scene.

"Perhaps we should see the Lich King no—" He started, but Sophitia pushed him out of her way and stared at the scene before her. Othniel was as transfixed as she was.

The noble raised his hand behind his head before bringing down the whip with a brutal ferocity that rivaled even a vampire. The woman screamed in pain as the spinal cord cut a gash along her back, and the other necromancers huddled together away from the noble. The noble grinned and brought his arm back again before slashing down a second time. This time the whip slashed across the woman's spine, and she screamed in agony and slumped in the skeleton's grasp. The noble began laughing and brought the whip back a third time. When he tried to swing it down, however, he hand would not move.

The noble turned around and saw a black-gloved hand wrapped around his wrist, and he moved his confused gaze to the eyes of Sophitia, who stood next to him with fury in her eyes. Before he could even speak she grabbed him about the neck with her right hand and lifted him into the air. He gurgled, and she slammed him against the wall of the mountain. He gasped in pain, and spewed out a few words.

"Wh-what are you doing, kill her!" His face scrunched as Sophitia forcefully closed his windpipes.

The other necromancers were snapped out of their stupor, and they began making motions with their hands. The multitude of skeletons surged towards Sophitia, but in a flash Othniel was between them with his sword and dirk drawn. The first skeletons to meet him were quickly dispatched, and before many more could join the battle, Sophitia tightened her grip around the noble's throat until he gagged. She looked him in the eyes.

"Tell your pet necromancers to cease their attacks before you and all of your precious skeletons die." Even as she spoke, Othniel was weaving in around the skeletons and slicing at will. Each cut he made incapacitated a skeleton, and none of them seemed to be able to touch him. In the back of his mind, he noticed that only a few of them were battle skeletons, and he smiled as he thought about how weak this noble really was.

The noble choked once, and then, when Sophitia released her grip on his throat a bit, he quickly gave orders to stand down. The skeletons immediately stopped, and the necromancers looked relieved as they ceased their hand movements. Sophitia smiled as they stopped, but then the noble looked at her and spoke in a trembling, pathetic voice.

"It's again-against the law to hurt an-another necromancer." The pain in his eyes was evident, and they could see he was pleading.

Sophitia turned to look at the woman, who was even now sprawled across the ground, her back laid open and blood flowing down it. She looked back at the noble and whispered very quietly. "Yes, it is."

In a flash she had slammed him to the ground, and in seconds her and Othniel were walking along with Darren. She stopped only once, when she reached the group of necromancers, and that was to tell them to take the woman to the infirmary. After that, she looked neither to the left nor the right as the three of them walked to the end of the road and up to the stairs that marked the beginning of the palace and the home of the Lich King. When they reached them, Darren turned to the two of them. Othniel had expected a reaction from him, but his face seemed studiously blank.

"In here is the Lich King. You may enter, Sophitia, but the other one may not. We have already given the two of you a great privilege. No other vampires have ever entered our city alive before, and only you may see our Lich King. I will watch over the other one while we wait. He will, of course, be forced to have a spell placed upon him forcing him to never speak of this place again."

"Gee, thanks." Othniel was beginning to like this place less and less.

Sophitia shot him a look of warning and agreed. Darren moved aside as she walked up the steps. When she had passed out of their sight, Darren turned back to him and motioned to a comfortable bench bolted to the wall. It was long enough for two people to lay outstretched on it, so they were a comfortable distance away from one another when they sat down, but Othniel still felt uncomfortable. He stared straight in front of him, until he noticed that Darren was looking at him from the other side of the bench. Othniel stared back at him for a bit, but eventually the silence became too dense, and he had to break it.

"What?"

"What?" Darren replied, his face a challenge.

Othniel returned his challenge. "Why are you staring at me?"

Darren's eyes narrowed. "Because I've never seen a monster before."

"Hey, at least vampires treat their own with some sense of decency, not like your people, apparently." Othniel had not really meant to say it like that, but what he had seen was still very fresh in his mind.

Darren's face looked like it was ready to explode. "You think that you're so damn superior to us, don't you? You think that you're sickened by what that necromancer did to the other? That was nothing compared to what you vampires do to humans. She will heal, and he would have been reprimanded, I'm sure of it. You vampires, however, you steal our very souls and damn us for eternity every time you make another of your own. You tell me what is worse, is it social problems and reanimating the dead, or killing innocent humans before bringing them back against their will and cursing them to an eternity of punishment?"

Othniel was taken aback by the ferocity of Darren's emotions, and he had no response save to look ahead of himself at the road across the gap. As he watched necromancers walking around, he pondered what Darren had said. 'Are we really that bad?' The question disturbed him, and he wondered, not for the first time, just what would happen when he died. His fatigue caught up to him before long, however, and he gladly slipped into the oblivion of sleep. He hated thinking about topics like that anyway.

Sophitia walked along the halls that filled the very top of the mountain with nostalgic happiness. It had been so long since she had been here that she only remembered about some turns right after she made them. All of the paintings, rugs, and carvings made her think of all of the times she had run past them with her childhood friends. She remembered her family, her loving mother and strong father and all of her siblings. She had been the oldest, but now most of them would seem older than she was now. She had returned only once before since becoming a vampire, and even then they had all seemed so much older.

Her feelings grew stronger when she reached the doors that marked the entrance to the royal chamber. She grabbed the handles and was comforted by their worn smoothness. After standing in front of the doors for a moment, she breathed in and pulled them open before walking into the chamber. The first thing she noticed was all of the necromancers who sat around on tables that littered the room. The carpet that led to the throne was the same, but all along the sides necromancers muttered back and forth amongst one another. None of them had skeletons with them, since only the Lich king could have a skeleton with him in the room, but it was obvious by their dress that these were the wealthiest of the necromancers.

Sophitia felt uneasy seeing all of these here. They had never been there before, since her father had always held the royal chamber in high regard and only allowed a few in at once. In that moment, she walked swiftly past the tables and up the carpet that lead to the bone-encrusted throne. Her suspicions were validated when she saw that the person sitting on the throne was not her father, but when she saw whom it was she smiled and called out.

"Skull!" She ran forward with elation, forgetting court protocol for a moment in her happiness. She bounded up the steps that led to the throne and embraced the startled Lich King.

"Sophitia?" He replied, obviously startled. When he had composed himself, he returned her embrace. "Sophitia, it has been too long since I last saw you, sister."

She suddenly remembered court protocol and hurriedly stepped back and bowed down on one knee. She noticed that the chamber had grown silent since she had cried out, and now all of them were staring at the incident unfolding here. Her brother quickly stood from his throne and walked up to her.

"Oh bother, don't do that. You know that you have as much right to be ruler here as I do you know."

She smiled and stood to her feet. She swiftly looked around the room at all of the faces. "So, if you're on the throne, then that must mean that father…"

"Yes," Skull's face was downcast. "He failed the final test a few years ago, and now he sleeps with our ancestors in the catacombs. The position of Lich Queen would have been yours but…" he tried to make it a joke, but it sounded a little bitter.

"You didn't know how to contact me." Sophitia finished for him. She knew that she had been forced to abandon her people, but she still felt responsible.

"Exactly, so I had to become Lich King. And let me tell you, it's been like hell. I don't know how father managed to control these people." Skull stepped back and slumped back into his throne before continuing in a voice meant only for her ears. "As I'm sure you've noticed, there have been problems lately with our people. I didn't mean for it to happen, but I was too weak-willed. The aristocrats have made a definite barrier between themselves and the normal people. I don't know how I let it happen, but it's there now, and I don't know how to stop it. Look, they're even here, in the royal chamber, plotting and scheming." For a moment he looked young, as young as he had been before Sophitia left, and she could feel nothing but pity for him. "Oh how I wish father were still alive. He'd now how to deal with all of these people. He would have never let them run all over him. He would have placed his foot down and they would have obeyed him. I just know it."

"You've done the best you could." Sophitia walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder as she had done so long ago. "Father would be proud that you've kept them alive in such perilous times."

He tried to smile again, but it looked so sad. "I've done horribly, Sophitia. For some reason I always thought that father would live forever, that he would pass the final trial. Even when I didn't think that, I always thought that you would come back and take control, that you would rule these people." He stopped and looked up at her with hope in her eyes. She could have cried seeing the pain in his face as he looked into hers as innocent as a child. "Have you come for that, Sophitia, have you come to rid yourself of your vampirism and become our Lich Queen?"

She looked down at him before ruffling his hair. "I never was a very good leader, Skull, but I may, if you truly do not want to and refuse my request."

She wondered if she had said something wrong as his face changed. He looked so regal now, almost like father had looked when he gave orders. He raised his voice, so that now anyone who was listening, which was probably the entire room, could hear him. "What request would you make of me, sister?"

She took a deep breath. "I would like for you to aid the vampires in the upcoming war with the werewolves."

He did not lose his regal appearance. "War? What war?"

"The final war between our two races. Much has happened recently, and I believe that we will be meeting in battle for the last time very soon."

"Ah," he tilted his head to the side, questioningly. "And tell me, why should I help the vampires?"

She did not hesitate. "Because I have sensed the werewolf army, and they measure over five thousand."

There was an audible gasp from the entire room, and Sophitia almost smiled. The knowledge had the effect she had hoped for. Her brother was absolutely astounded. "Five thousand?"

She nodded. "Yes, my squad recently discovered their main lair, which means that we not only know how many of them we face, but also that a final war will be imminent. And though it pains me to say this, the vampires cannot win that war without the aid of our people."

He looked unimpressed. "And… Why should we care again?"

She was prepared for this question. "Because if the werewolves defeat the vampires, who are really the only ones holding them back, they will eventually take control of the entire forest, including here."

"I seriously doubt they'll find us here." Skull scoffed.

"Maybe not at first," Sophitia replied. "But eventually there will be so many that even if they do not find you, you will still be forced to hide away in this mountain. How will you gather your food and water? You may survive for a time, but eventually the werewolves will discover you, and then you will be forced to battle them and die. You cannot defeat either race right now, and you will not be able to later, either. Now is the opportune moment for you to preserve your place in this forest."

He thought about this for a time, but eventually he shook his head. "No, we can leave this place and live with a separate necromancer group outside of the forest if it comes to that."

He was being unreasonable, and Sophitia had not remembered him being so when he was younger. He had always been so amiable and easy to persuade. Something seemed different about him to her. He would not meet her eyes, and he constantly looked to the left of her. Sophitia subtly flicked her eyes to the side and saw a woman sitting at the table closest to the throne. She was beautiful, in a strange manner. In truth, it was more appropriate to call the woman handsome. She was tall, even while sitting, and her brown hair was straightened to the extreme. A prominent bone structure and two brown eyes competed with her hawk nose to draw attention away from her thin lips. Like all of the others, she was silent and watching the conversation between Sophitia and her brother, but unlike the others, she was staring only at Skull, and nodding.

Sophitia's eyes narrowed and she studied the woman. Somehow, she instinctively knew that the reason for Skull's weakness was this woman. Sophitia knew her type well enough. She had probably worked her way to Skull while father had still been alive, and now she worked on him and bent his will around her little finger. The worst part was that he probably did not know that she was the reason for his failures, either.

Sophitia realized that, with this woman working against her, she would have only one way of securing the help of the necromancers for the war. She did not want to do this, but there seemed to be no other option. Walking towards Skull, she smiled dangerously.

"Very well, little brother. You leave me no choice." She smiled inwardly as he shrunk back into his throne the way he used to when she used that voice. "I challenge you to a duel. The winner decides who will be the next ruler of our people, and if we will go to war or not."

Skull was still trying to make himself as small as possible. "I-uh-um."

"Or," she was directly in front of him; "you could surrender the crown to me now, or allow us to go to war."

He was so intimidated that for a second she thought he might just do it, but then he looked to the side of her, and she knew who he was looking at now. Slowly, he relaxed and sat more comfortably in his throne. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and though he trembled, he had a determination she had not seen in him since she came here. "I accept your challenge, sister. We will fight in the pit, and to either death or surrender. As you say, the winner decides who the next ruler will be and if we go to war."

Sophitia smiled again. "Very well." She turned to go, but turned around when he called her name and swiftly plucked a flying white object that he had thrown to her.

"My old staff!" She smiled at her brother and spun the white staff in her hand with familiarity.

He chuckled. "Yep, we found it not long ago. I remember all the time you spent making it, and even though I was going to keep it, I can't even guess what weird spells you've placed on it. In all, it's best suited for its maker anyway."

She turned and gave him a real smile, not one meant to intimidate, mock, or express superiority, just a genuine show of happiness. "Thanks Skull, and it is good to see you."

"Likewise, I'll meet you there."

As she walked out of the chamber, Sophitia ran her hand along the shaft of her staff and remembered how long it had taken to make it. It was a good staff, and she had spent hours grinding down bones into fine dust and then many days petrifying the bones into the shape she desired. While the approach had been painfully slow, it had given her plenty of time to weave as many wards, spells, and hexes into it as she felt were necessary. Casting spells on a staff were fine, but if you could do it while it was still in creation, then they were permanent, and never needed to be recast unless the spell itself limits its use. The powers inherent in this staff were such that she had never found any other to be its match. She had lost it when she was first Turned, and had rued that loss ever since. Of course, as Skull had said, it could only reach it's full potential in her hands. She had made sure of that.

She found both Darren and Othniel sleeping soundly on the bench, with their legs on the far ends and their heads right next to one another. It was a comical sight, with Othniel on the far end drooling and Darren on the inside snoring softly, and Sophitia allowed her self a short moment to enjoy it before smacking her staff down on Othniel's head, making him give a yell and fall off of the bench. Had this not been her original intent, she may have felt bad when his head smacked on the ground with a crack.

"Son of a—" Othniel sputtered as he rolled over. When his eyes faced hers he froze in mid sentence.

She leaned over him and looked down on him. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you, what'd you say?"

"Nothing?" Othniel was still frozen in place, not even his eyelids blinked as he stared at her.

"Nothing?" She raised an eyebrow and mimicked his voice.

He coughed. "Nothing."

"Good," she straightened. "Well, things didn't go exactly as I had hoped they would, so I'm going to have to battle the current Lich King in order to take command of our society. If I win, we'll go to war, but if I lose we'll have to go back to the vampires empty-handed."

He hurriedly scrambled to his feet. "So… How do you win?"

"I have to either get him to surrender or, if he will not, kill him." She hoped that she could get away with the former.

"So, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, even I've heard of liches, and aren't they supposed to be all-powerful?"

"Well, that's almost true. Liches are very, very, powerful, but he's not really a lich yet. The title of Lich King or Lich Queen is really just an honorary one we give to our leaders. We haven't had a real lich alive in this forest before in all of our history. There are several alive in the world at this moment, but none of them are reachable."

"Oh," Othniel paused. "So… how do you become a lich?"

She stared at him for a second. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you and bring you back as an undead." Without another word she began to walk back down the road.

He growled under his breath as he ran after her. Why did she always get the good lines?

Sophitia stood in the middle of the large hole at the bottom of the cavern. The floor around her was littered with bones, and she knew the reason for it. Here were the traditional training grounds for young necromancers and also the dueling grounds for challenges. All excess bones were thrown into the pit, and over the years that they had been in the mountain the amount of bones inside the pit had become innumerable. It was perfect for a battleground, since all tools were readily at hand. Weapons were also thrown into the pit, so all beings summoned were also armed as soon as they came to be. In all, there was no better place for a duel. There was also many holes carved in the side of the hole in which spectators could watch the fights, and in short amount of time since her challenge, the benches were already filled. This was becoming quite the spectacle.

She felt along the length of her staff as she stared blankly across the field. She could have levitated to the ground as easily as walked down the path, but she had used the time to re-familiarize herself with her staff. Most of the spells and wards she had put on it had immediately come back to mind, but a few had needed some deep probing, and some eluded her even now. She had a good idea of what she would try to do, but she was worried. She had been away for quite a few years, and in that time Skull must have changed drastically. There were countless directions he could have taken his necromancy, and she had no idea which one he had chosen or even how strong he was.

She had deliberately taken her time walking to the arena, but even so she had reached here before him. This fact did not bother her, as she spent the time delving even further into her staff, but it did make her wonder just what he was doing. Any worry she might have had was made null, however, when he entered the arena from the other side of the stadium. She could see that he had changed out of his royal ceremonial clothes and into the traditional necromancer garb. As she looked at him she could not help but smile as she remembered why he hated to wear the black he was wearing now. It had always served to accentuate his striking face, and he had enough problems trying to downplay it without the help. With it on, she had no trouble seeing why he had been named Skull. All of the bones in his face were extremely prominent, pushing forward as if in competition with one another, and to add to this his skin had always been thin and stretched against his bones. One last touch was that his eyes had always been sunken inside their sockets as if he were an old man, and the final result was that his face really did look more like a human skull than a normal face.

He wasted no time with greetings or pleasantries. He only raised his staff, made by morphing two hardened spinal cords together at the tail ends, in front of him. Sophitia did the same with her own staff, and just like that the duel began. They both let go of their staffs immediately and as their weapons hung suspended in space they mimicked each other by bringing their hands together and tracing sigils in the air with the tips of their fingers. This first spell was the staple of any necromancer battle, and it was usually the spell that decided the battle.

Sophitia had not cast this spell in many years, but she was pleased to feel the old familiarity return to her. What was more, her vampiric powers allowed her to cast the spell with more speed and finesse than her brother. The result of her superiority was that she finished several seconds before him and as she ended the spell she felt more power than she had ever had as a human flow out of her. A shock wave of purple shot from the sigils in the air, and as it passed over the dead bones they began to twist and contort, forming themselves into vaguely human shapes. Once they became humanoid, the skeletal minions grabbed the closest weapon they could find and stood to their feet. As one they looked to her for direction.

Sophitia was amazed by the amount of skeletons she had raised. She had aimed for about fifty, but she could tell that she had at least eighty undead surrounding her. She looked over at her brother, who had just finished the spell and grabbed his staff from the air in front of him. When his spell had finished, he had brought out about sixty skeletons of his own, and he wasted no time in ordering them forward. Sophitia reciprocated, and soon the two armies were silently charging each other.

When they met they clashed against one another with a ferocity that belied their passive visages. Without thought to blocking, they slashed and stabbed at one another with an abandon that can only be achieved by knowing that you cannot feel pain or die. Their arms swung back and forth, not caring whether they hit friend or foe, and they continued to attack until their heads were separated from their bodies and the rest of their bones fell apart and hit the floor. The two sides passed into one another, and in seconds Sophitia could not tell which ones were hers and which ones belonged to Skull. She saw him begin to repeat the spell, however, so she did the same. This time he summoned fifty, and she summoned seventy.

She smiled. It was obvious that she would win the fight at this rate. Then, however, she saw him grab his necklace and quietly say something. She knew he was summoning his personal skeleton before it materialized next to him. Guardian skeletons were vastly different from normal skeleton in that necromancers spent years perfecting them. They were stronger, faster, and often had many nasty surprises. The only drawback was that, while a necromancer could control hundreds of normal undead, that same necromancer could control only ten or so personal skeletons.

Sophitia was glad that only one guardian skeleton was allowed in a duel, because she was sure that Skull had many diabolical personal skeletons in his repertoire. She herself had only one, which she had made during her years with the vampires, but she thought that it would be sufficient.

When Skull's guardian skeleton fully materialized, Sophitia began to doubt herself. It was truly something only her brother could think up. It had eight legs that constantly moved in a circle around four bodies that had werewolf heads at the top and large axes in their four hands. Inside their chests were the same moving bones as had been in the guard's skeleton.

Skull sent his guardian skeleton along with the fifty new skeletons he had summoned, and once it reached the battle Sophitia found out why she was right to be wary of it. It's chests opened like double doors and the bones moving inside it shot out of each like scorpion stingers. When the bone whips hit a skeleton, it would be blown to pieces from the sheer torque and power. Then, when the guardian got close, its bodies stuck out their axes and all of them rotated on some kind of an axis that was hidden inside them. As they spun, they sliced many more of her skeletons to bits and brought their bone whips back inside them. Once the spin was over, they shot out their whips again, and continued the routine from there.

In the first seconds of the fight, the guardian had killed twenty of her skeletons and ten of Skull's. Sophitia could also see that Skull had placed his own newer skeletons on the sides of the battle, away from the guardian. That way her skeletons would have to either focus on the guardian or turn their backs to him, and Sophitia had to choose for them. She instinctively gave the first group of skeletons up as dead and ordered them to solely attack the skeletons within them and the guardian. They would die very quickly, but they might be able to do damage to the ones around them and to that guardian.

Even as she gave them their death orders, she looked down at a ring on one of her fingers and said her personal password into it. Instantly her mind met another's, and her guardian spoke to her.

"Milady, do you require my assistance?"

"Yes, I do. I want you to join the battle ensuing. Kill all enemy skeletons you meet, but make killing the other guardian skeleton your top priority."

"Yes, milady."

As soon as her guardian affirmed she felt his presence leave her ring and travel to a few feet away from her. When he formed, she looked at him with satisfaction; she had made him well. She had used the same method for making him as she had with her staff, and it had taken an entire year, but the result was very satisfactory. He looked like a mannequin, with a full white body that was obviously male. He had a face, but his eyes and mouth were always closed and he was devoid of ears. He had no weapons, but she had designed him with that thought in mind. In her opinion, he was the perfect guardian.

She sent him out with her newest batch of skeletons and returned her attention to her dying skeletons. They were obeying her to the letter, and had turned their backs to the skeletons around them and attacked only those within them. They attacked even as swords, hammers, and axes sliced and smashed them from behind. Amazingly enough, they had been able to pretty much destroy all of the skeletons within them, but they were having trouble with the guardian. Those that survived destruction by the bone whips were inevitably broken apart by its eight axes, whether it was spinning and slicing or just fighting with each of its bodies separately. One skeleton, which had had its legs sliced from under it, did manage to crawl close enough to slice off a leg, but it was smashed by two other legs, and then the rest of the leg was ejected from the guardian as another leg appeared from somewhere to take its place.

Skull's guardian had succeeded in killing off the last of her skeletons when her guardian and the rest of her new army charged towards it. Skull was forced to gather his remaining skeletons around his guardian so that it would not be overwhelmed, and once again the two armies smashed into one another. This time, though, Sophitia's guardian was in the front of her army, and he made all of the difference.

Once the sides met, a skeleton swung down at her guardian with a sword. He stuck one arm up and activated the ward that Sophitia had placed on his forearm. The sword clacked against the ward and bounced off as if it had hit metal, and as the skeleton's arm went back, her guardian closed his fist and activated the ward places on his knuckles. He punched the skeleton in the face and it exploded. Another skeleton swung from behind him and hit him in the back. The consistency of his bone skin was much harder than stone, however, and the sword barely dented him. The skeleton tried to swing again, but he spun around and kicked its head off of its shoulders.

From there, her guardian was an unstoppable force on its way to Skull's guardian. Everywhere he punched a skeleton exploded, and even when he was far past his allies and surrounded by skeletons he simply activated the wards on his forearms and shins. He spun around, blocking every attack directed at him with either his hands or his legs, and in the second of rebound he switched the wards to his hands and feet. One skeleton's mouth was open, and its jaw flew through the floor when he punched it through its mouth. A second was hit in the rib cage, which compressed for a moment before imploding upon itself. Another skeleton was blown to the side by a kick to its waist, and another lost both of its legs by a similar kick before losing its neck to a straight kick.

All of the skeletons around her guardian were quickly destroyed, but he sensed that he should end things quickly, so he activated the wards on his thighs, crouched, and sprung forward towards Skull's guardian with supernatural speed. The other guardian responded by shooting out all four of its whips at him. The two whips in front shot at him, while the two in back whipped around and slashed at him from the side. The length of the whips surprised Sophitia since Skull had made it so that all four had the same length when attacking her guardian.

Her guardian ended his jump on top of a skeleton and blew it apart with his feet while launching himself forward again. He spun in the air and barely dodged by the first shooting whip, then activated the wards on one of his forearms and one of the back of his opposite leg as he stuck his arm to block his face and kicked his leg up. The two whipping bone whips smashed against his arm and the back of his leg with bone breaking strength, and Sophitia saw her wards crack under the strength, but the wards still held long enough for her guardian to turn with the whips and let them pass by him. The last whip shot at her guardian, but he activated the wards on one fist and on one palm. Right as the whip was about to slam into him, he swung with a punch and blew away the tip of the whip. With his other hand, he slapped his palm onto the remains of the whip, and when the other guardian retracted the rest of the whip it took him with it.

Skull's guardian did not seem to be worried by him coming towards it, in fact, it began spinning on its axis with such speed that its bodies began to lose their individuality and it looked like a double-bladed top. Her guardian kept his open-handed grip on the whip until he was moments away from the axes that spun about, but at the last second he released the ward and dropped to the ground. Before the other guardian could change its spinning radius, he kicked out, blowing four legs away at once, rolled under the other guardian, and kicked up once while activating the ward on the tips of his toes. His toes blew through the bottom of the other guardian as red furrows began to grow around the hole he had crated. He swiftly activated the wards on the tips of his fingers and shoved them through as well. The other guardian actually screamed from all of its canine mouths as her guardian emerged from under it and began to rip it to pieces.

As the other guardian fell to the ground and broke apart, Sophitia saw that the rest of her skeletons were winning as well, and she also knew that if Skull stuck to this method, which was the most popular method, he could no longer win. She was able to summon more skeletons than he was, and now that his guardian was dead and hers was barely hurt, he had no chance. Now that she thought about it, though, he should have made more skeletons to at least stall her forces…

She sent her thoughts over to him. 'Your guardian is dead. Do you yield brother?'

Amusement flashed from him to her, but when he spoke his words were forced, as if he were concentrating very hard. 'Not in the slightest sister. While you were with the vampires, I've been experimenting. Watch this.'

She looked over at him and froze. She had been too focused on the fight between the guardians, and had not paid any attention to Skull. Now she wondered how she could have not noticed him. Glyphs and sigils surrounded him and he was still racing his fingers through the air to make smaller and smaller sigils inside the larger ones. Sophitia could read the glyphs and sigils with her superior eyes, but she did not recognize most of them, and that scared her. She quickly shot a ball of purple energy at Skull, but when it hit the glyphs it fizzled out of existence. He must have laced himself with wards as well.

Frantically, Sophitia sent her guardian and all of the remaining skeletons towards Skull while at the same time summoning fifty more and sending them out. When she was done, she grabbed her staff out of the air and readied for whatever it was Skull had spent all of this time preparing for.

She had hoped that her skeletons would reach Skull before he could finish, but they were still thirty feet away when he yelled out the final command and made cutting motions with his hands. The power from the spell being released actually blew several of the skeletons out of existence, and Sophitia felt it as it hit her and almost knocked her back. When she regained her footing, she thought that she was still stumbling, but then she realized that the ground itself was shivering. More accurately, the bones covering the ground began to shake and tremble as they strained to move towards Skull.

The bones in his Skull's immediate vicinity moved even faster as they shot up into the air and began to make a gigantic ball. Bones by the hundreds flew into the ball, and many of her skeletons went with the bones on the ground. When the ball was about fifty feet in diameter, legs broke out of it and it fell to the ground. Cracks formed all around the ball, and then it broke into pieces as the giant inside it burst out. It was an enormous Bone Giant, with the bones of other skeletons serving as just parts of its own bones, and it stood a least fifty feet tall.

As soon as Sophitia saw the giant she called her guardian back into her ring. He was too useful to be sacrificed. Even as she did that, though, she sent all of her skeletons to attack the giant. She knew that it was pointless, though, even before the giant began smashing them into the ground as he advanced towards her. Many of the skeletons simply broke apart and merged with the giant before they ever reached him, and those that did not were swiftly destroyed.

The giant ran towards her, the skeletons in its path not even considered in its mind. Even as she looked at it Skull's voice came into her head.

'Do _you_ yield, sister?"

'No.' She had to think of something.

A sigh came over from him, and the giant continued its charge.

She did not move until the giant reached her and slammer its hand down at her. She jumped to the side and grabbed her staff in both hands while whispering something into it. The giant's hand hit the ground and caused a shock wave of bones to fly around it, and once it did Sophitia spun back around and hit the hand with the tip of her staff. The staff barely tapped the hand, but once it did the hand instantly disintegrated. She did not wait for it to recover, but spun and delivered a strong swinging blow to the giant's shin, which also immediately turned to ashes.

The giant began to fall, and when it did Sophitia leapt into the air, straight for its chest. She slammed her staff into it, and was satisfied to see a hole appear in front of her. The giant fell to the ground, and she landed on its back before smacking it in the head with her staff and ending its existence. As she did, though, the rest of the bones became like water as they lost substance, and she stumbled as they fell back to the ground. It was at that moment that she saw that Skull had been making another, smaller, array of glyphs and just finished.

She watched in horror as a large amount of bones merged into two of the giant's fists, positioned themselves on each side of her, and swiftly closed in on her. Skull must have realized that she could only use one side of her staff to Cleanse the dead. Even as she stumbled, Sophitia came up with a plan. She spun and disintegrated one fist, and then turned around as fast as she could. Skull had done well, though, since she was only able to get her staff parallel to the fist. She only hoped that this was enough.

She activated the ward on her staff and in the instant before the fist hit her a circular ward as long as her staff and two feet thick sprang up between her and it. The fist hit the ward with more strength than she had ever felt in her life. Eventually, her ward, which was the strongest she had, shattered, but when it did, the fist had lost all of its momentum and fell to the floor.

Sophitia smiled in relief, but even as she did she stiffened when a ball of black energy hit her in the back. She fell and landed on her back amidst all of the bones, and Skull materialized on top of her, with his boot on her chest and his spine staff raised above her. The tip of the staff began to glow menacingly red.

"Do you yield now?" Skull wanted everyone to hear the conversation. Sophitia saw him glance to the side for a moment, and knew who he was looking at.

She weighed her options, and had to wonder how much the vampires meant to her. Were they worth dying for? She thought about all of the vampires she had met before, and many of them had been less than desirable company. In fact, the vampires as a whole had never done very much for her at all. Why should she risk her life to save a nation that probably did not deserve it?

Then, however, she thought about Damian, who had stayed behind to give her a chance to live. He had always been kind to her, and had kept her alive during her first months as a vampire. She also thought of Othniel, who had almost died for her sake. Maybe it was worth her life to repay debts like that.

"No. I do not." Something of a gasp came from those watching.

"Very well." She thought she saw a tear start to form in his eyes, and for a second he hesitated, but then he glanced to the side for a moment, and Sophitia followed his gaze and saw that woman smile fiercely and nod. Skull nodded back and stabbed his staff down.

Right to the side of her head.

Sophitia saw that he really was starting to cry. "Damnit Sophitia, you know I can't do this. I could never kill you."

Her superior smile was plastered to her face. "Yes, I know. So that leaves only one option."

He took his foot off of her and helped her up. "Yea, I yield. You win."

The crowd began to yell excitedly, but none of their conversations could eclipse the scream of a certain female, and Sophitia's right lip curled in triumph as her eyes darted to the side to catch a glimpse of the other's distraught face. She did not look quite so beautiful, or handsome, now that all of her plans had fallen apart.

"And, since I have won this duel, it is my right to choose not only the new Lich King or Queen, but to also decide whether we will go to battle or not." Skull almost looked relieved, and she remembered that he had wanted to stop being the Lich king. He probably would have too, if not for that woman. "We will go to war, and you, Skull, will be the Lich King. I could not justify being Lich Queen when in truth you are stronger than I am."

She saw disappointment in his eyes, but also some pride at her compliment. She had never given him very many compliments, and this was definitely the greatest. He would be the Lich King now, and the vampires may just have a chance of surviving the war.

- 24 -


	16. Alone

16

Alone

Bryce had been following the group of vampires for some time now, and he could not help but marvel at the silent way the weredragon carrying him through the air glided around. Had it not been for Nightwing's finesse, he was sure that Damian and the other two, for that was who he had discovered to have captured the queen and Lupine, would have sensed them hours ago. As it was, they had been stalking them for almost a day and a half, even though they had to rest during the day and catch up later that night. There was nothing Bryce wanted more than to attack, but he knew that he could do nothing until Damian and the others stopped to rest, and they had not done that during the night yet.

His centennial patience was eroding, and he was beginning to think that the vampires would run until they reached their territory. If that turned out to be the case, he and Nightwing would be forced to attack while they carried the Queen, and unless they executed their attack perfectly, that could end disastrously. He had sent his minotaurs to the werewolf lair and had instructed Brokenhoof to inform the royal couple that he had completed his mission and was currently on his way to save the Queen, and he could only hope that he would return with the Queen after making such a bold statement. He knew what would happen to him if he came back empty-handed, especially after what Brokenhoof had told him about how they had escaped. Why Serenade would do such a thing was beyond Bryce, and he was resolved to have a talk with her when he got back; if he got back.

As more hours passed, Bryce actually began to plan for having to attack the vampires while they were running, but then finally they stopped, put down their prisoners, and leaned against trees while taking deep breaths. Bryce saw this from miles away with his other sight, and immediately instructed Nightwing to increase his speed as much as possible while still being completely silent. Nightwing grunted a reply from his mind and his pace quickened noticeably. Bryce was amazed to discover that still no sounds escaped the weredragon.

As he steeled himself for the battle ahead, Bryce thought about Damian and the two with him. He wondered how he should fight them, whether he should pull out his sword and drop down on them from above, let Nightwing attack while fighting from his back, or have Nightwing attack and then attack in the confusion. Every part of Bryce's being wanted another duel with Damian, but he had also seen the prowess of the other two Vampires, and knew that he could not win a fight with all three of them. No, as much as he wanted to, he could not meet the three of them with conventional fighting because rescuing the Queen and Lupine was far more important than beating or killing them. He had to make sure that none of them would be able to get to the hostages and hold them captive while he was busy fighting the others. He needed something different.

A smile crept over his face as the perfect plan hit him. He was a druid, after all. After sharing his plan with Nightwing, who thoroughly agreed with it, Bryce began to run through all of the possibilities involved with the plan and what he would do if each one happened. He would defeat Damian tonight, no matter what.

The entire chamber around Vincent was quiet. His words seemed to hang in the air as almost all faces went through various stages of the same emotion: surprise. Finally, it was Vladimir who spoke first.

"Repeat that, scout Vincent."

"Sir, my squad, which was lead by first class Damian, found the werewolf lair. Upon discovering it's whereabouts, we were attacked and captured. Three of us escaped and one was killed. Scout leader Damian and two others are still in captivity, sir. I have a map here with the exact coordinates of the werewolf lair."

At first, the same silence as before prevailed, but then a small shout of triumph emanated from Safiria, the matriarch. Vincent looked at her, and was sure that every other vampire in the chamber did the same, to see a fierce delight on her usually placid face. Everyone could tell what she was thinking, and many of them shuddered to think of what she would do to those werewolves. Then she said something, so faint that Vincent was unsure she even said it, but when he saw Vladimir's eyes swiftly flash to her he knew it was true. She had said "Damian."

Vladimir, current Patriarch of the vampires, sat back in his very uncomfortable throne. He could not help but be annoyed. As much as he wanted the war between vampires and werewolves, he had always thought that it would be years from now, and this seemed too soon. They still did not have enough intelligence on their enemy, nor did they have sufficient supplies or, possibly, enough men. Many preparations would have to be made, and countless little details would fall to him for completion, since Safiria barely did any of the duties involved in ruling. All of the nights between now and whenever this battle happened, if it happened at all, would be filled with work. And he could not help but notice that Damian had been the cause of all of his work, and that Safiria had noticed him once again. These thoughts, more than all of his work, raised his ire. 'Damian indeed.'

Dimitrious, chief advisor to the Patriarch, and the one said to be the oldest living vampire, leaned back in his comfortably padded chair. This Damian fellow seemed to be a very able person, maybe even good enough to receive the Ascension. 'In fact, if things continued this way, he may even turn out to be the One.'

Throughout the council chamber, variations of these three trains of thoughts abounded, and it was not long before less discreet council members were voicing their opinions. Through all of the tumult, only one vampire remained completely motionless, with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if he were thinking. Despite his placid behavior, those who knew him would have shrunk away from him with just one look. Darius, current general of the vampire army, sat with his face studiously expressionless, while inside his thoughts raged. 'The council is so fickle. All they care about is the newest and greatest thing they can see. If this Damian is too much in their minds, they'll eventually decide that he should be the general of our army.'

As if on cue, and as a reminder to Darius of how well he knew the council, councilman Fralis, an old, decaying vampire, stood and addressed the other members of the council. "Patriarch, Matriarch, honorable members of the council, Damian has shown himself to be an adept fighter and strategist, as well as an able leader. Our army needs more vampires of his caliber, so I propose that we promote him to the position of captain. The eighth unit has just recently been formed, and with the addition of the two units in planning, there will be a need for new captains. I believe that no captain has been chosen for the eighth squad yet, and I would like to make a motion that Damian be made captain of that unit…If not more." That last part was said with a distinct and meaningful look towards Darius.

Darius was absolutely fuming by now, although he let none of his emotions show as he stood to his feet. "My Lords, my ladies. I second the proposition that Damian be made a captain, but I would propose that he be made the captain of unit seven, while the current captain of unit seven is moved to unit eight. New units are always very hard to control, and the captain of unit seven has proven himself in many battles. Now, as to Damian being promoted to anything beyond a captain, I have held this position since the last general was killed in the Werepyre Wars, and have never lost a major battle," granted there had been very few major battles in that time, but he had not lost them nonetheless. "None can dispute that I have been successful in all of my campaigns, and I have never lost a duel. This…upstart may be an excellent fighter, but we have the greatest battle in our long history on our hands. Can we really trust the leading of our forces at such a pivotal time to a vampire who has never commanded more than six others? He is untrained, and until he is I cannot, and indeed, will not give over my position as general to him."

Before any more conversations could arise, Vladimir sighed and stood to his feet. "Are there any objections to promoting Damian to captain of a unit?" There were none. "Very well. Brilde, make that proposal official. If Damian is rescued or escapes and finds his way back here, he will be promoted to unit captain immediately. Now, on to a more important matter. What do we do with the knowledge that Damian and his squad very likely gave their lives for? Scout Vincent, you may leave."

"Sir." Vincent found himself very happy to be leaving. All of this politicking was beginning to get on his nerves. Although hearing that Damian would become a captain if he came back was good. As he walked out the door he caught himself thinking that. 'Is that good news? The vampire who killed my sister is going to become even harder to reach, and I'm thinking that it is good. What's wrong with me?' He left the castle feeling very confused.

Meanwhile, in the council chamber, Vladimir turned to the councilors and started the conversation. "Now then, what shall we do?"

Instantly, the councilors, who had been holding in their opinions until they were sure they would not be killed for spouting them out, began to do just that.

"Attack!"

"Launch Powerful magic at their base!"

"Create a blockade outside of the base and starve them out."

"Nothing!

"Go on the defensive and wait for them to attack us."

The discussion continued well into the night, until finally Vladimir, who looked like he was about to kill something, finished the conversation. "So, we are, finally, in agreement. A state of war will be declared, the two units in construction will be filled as fast as possible, all of our allies will be called to fight with us, and we will meet for a council of war in three nights time. This meeting is now adjourned."

"Aw hell, I can't take it anymore."

Damian snapped his head up to see Raphael stand and start to walk towards the Queen and the last handmaiden. Something in his tone worried Damian, so he stood and faced him.

"Cannot take what, Raphael?"

He continued to walk towards them. "I can't take having these two here like that. Even us vampires have to vent every once in awhile."

It was night, and they were wearing their regular clothes, so Damian had ample opportunity to see the unbridled lust in Raphael's eyes.

"I will warn you, Raphael. These are prisoners of war, and as such must not be harmed in any way until they are brought to our leaders."

Leon spoke from where he was sitting. Worry pervaded his voice. "Yea, Raph, this isn't too bad. Listen, if you just hold on 'till we get back to the vampire castle I'll get you someone amazing. I promise. Come on man, it's just a bit more."

"Like hell," was Raphael's only reply as he continued to make his way towards the two women, who were cringing away at this point. Before he could reach them, though, Damian was in front of him. His weapons were sheathed, but his hand was on Raphael's shoulder.

"I cannot let you do this, Raph." Damian's eyes were cold.

"Oh, and why?" Raphael's eyes held challenge in them, and just looking into them scared Damian. "You're going to defend them over me? We've fought together for years, Damian, and these are our mortal enemies. What's wrong with hurting them a little? They've done far worse to us and to humans. Maybe it's time they learned how to feel pain themselves."

Damian shook his head. "No. This is not right."

Raphael laughed harshly at Damian. "Right? Right! Who are you to talk about right? Who are any of us to talk about right? We've all killed countless humans in our time, and we've done unspeakable acts for no reason. It's in our blood, Damian. It's how we must be. That's why I have to do this. That's why you had to use that girl. Because in the end, we are all," he tilted his head and smiled. "Scum."

Damian hesitated for a moment. What could he say? How could this be worse than killing an innocent human? He had done that many times, and he had used Serenade. He was scum. They were all scum. This was what they were. How could he tell them no? He could not.

Finally, Damian's hand fell from Raphael's shoulder and he turned away. "Do what you will, only do not harm the Queen, she is a valuable bargaining tool." He began to walk away.

"Hey, why don't you join us?" Raphael was smiling.

"Raph!" Leon walked up to his brother and turned him around by his shoulder. "Shut up!"

Raphael seemed to take the hint, and his eyes met the floor for a moment as he looked after Damian, who was walking out of the clearing. "Yea, sorry bro. I guess I just got a little carried away, but I mean, there's no way he doesn't feel the same way we do, right?"

Leon followed his gaze. "If our family had been killed the same way as his and our younger sister raped before our eyes, we might feel differently too."

"Well, that's almost enough to be a turnoff." Raphael's attitude quickly went back to normal.

"Yea, almost." Leon smiled. "You want first?"

"Sure."

The handmaiden began to cry as they walked toward her.

Meanwhile, Damian walked through the forest. He was securing the perimeter, or at least that was what he tried to tell himself. In truth, he was disgusted with those two, with the entire system that made it so he could not find any basis for denying them what they wished for. Most of all, though, he was disgusted with himself for not having the strength or the reason to deny them. He knew it was wrong, somehow, but he could find nothing else to prove that it was so. They were right, though; he was no better than they were. In the end they were all morally corrupt. In the end they were all guilty. In the end they were all scum.

From behind him he heard Leon call out to Raphael. "Hey, better finish before dawn. Wouldn't want that thing to get burned off."

Raphael gave as much back. "At least I have something to burn off, you bas- What the hell?!"

Damian heard the surprise in that last part, and immediately spun around to run back to the clearing. Right after the exclamation, he heard the clash of metal. When he reached the clearing his eyes opened wide with astonishment. There stood Bryce, or Deathfang, with his large sword held in one hand and his small one in his other, and in his first class form. Somehow he had come up right behind Raphael, and had only been stopped by Leon, who had slapped his swords down from above with all of the strength his two handed sword allowed him.

Almost instantly, Raphael, who had no shirt on, rolled under Bryce and pulled his two swords out. As he did so, Leon disengaged and leapt back next to him, and in the end they both faced Bryce, while Damian stood at the outside of the clearing. In an instant he pulled his spear from it's sheath on his back and ran towards them. Even as Leon and Raphael started to tell him to back off, Bryce looked to the sky and a dark shape eclipsed the moon. It flew down at him and Damian could barely make it out to be dragon. When it pulled it's head back and inhaled, Damian had no choice but to put his spear back, shift to his Other form, and use his wings to launch himself back.

Pure blackness poured from the dragon's mouth. It billowed like a pyre of flame caught in the wind, and when it hit the ground it flowed around it until it finally dissipated. Damian looked down and saw the ground was actually sliced to pieces. Large holes were in it, and cut marks marred the forest floor as if some beast of great strength had repeatedly taken an ax to it. Damian did not know what kind of dragon this was, but he knew that facing it would be beyond him.

When the dragon landed on the ground and tucked its wings onto its back, Damian was astonished to see fur all over it's body and black at its eyes. A werewolf dragon? Did those even exist? He wanted nothing more than to try to escape from this beast that seemed to be on another level from him, but he could not abandon Leon and Raphael, so he faced up with it. It looked him over, and laughed in a masculine voice.

"Heh, I've never fought a vampire before. This should be fun. Maybe I'll even get first class."

Behind him, Bryce was standing between the hostages and the two vampire brothers. He made no move to attack, so they obliged him. They ran at him, but crossed each other halfway through, so that Leon attacked his side with the smaller sword and Raphael attacked the side with the larger sword. That way, when Bryce swung at them, Leon was able to block his smaller sword, which looked more like a knife in Bryce's hand, and Raphael was able to dodge under his larger, slower sword.

Almost instantly, it looked like they had won. Both were inside his guard, and Leon was at his left side, swinging his large sword at Bryce with all of his strength, while Raphael attacked from his right, shoving his swords at Bryce's heart. Then, however, Bryce let his arms flow out and cross over his body, blocking Leon's powerful swing with his large blade and Raphael's fast attack with his small one. They were rebuffed, and as he brought his hands back around he switched his swords between them, deftly handling his large sword with his left hand as well as he had with his right. After a brief exchange of blows, both brothers broke off and circled Bryce until they were at exact opposites of his body.

Bryce sighed and closed his eyes, when he opened his eyelids, nothing was behind them. He could see them, though, even better than before, and when they attacked him he was ready for them. He handled Raphael's swift double attacks with deft flicks of his wrist, letting the natural strength of his body take place over in place of using any arm strength. For Leon he had to worry more, since he reach farther and attack with more strength than his brother could, but he was still able to block him with his left hand. The three of them continued to fight back and forth, with neither side gaining on the other. The two brothers fought miraculously, adding spins and leaps along with their usual impeccable fighting styles, but neither of them could score anything but minor hits on Bryce.

Meanwhile, Damian was having trouble with his opponent, who was better than him in every way. He lunged in, throwing countless punches at the dragon, but it just let him hit it in the chest as hard as he could and laughed. Then it looked down and spewed its dark breath at Damian, making him lunge back. It turned its head and spewed more, which he rolled out of the way from before lunging in. It spewed at him again, and he lunged over it and flew down on the dragon, trying to strike its head, but it merely swiveled its head back, making his swinging punch ineffective. He hung suspended in space, but pumped his wings to go up and above the head and teeth that came swinging back. He was not prepared for it to fly up with him, though, and he saw it grin as it opened its mouth and blackness began to spew out. With nothing else to do, Damian stuck his hands out in front of him and yelled out "fire."

The fire came from his hands and combated with the blackness, but Damian only held it up until he was blown to the side by the dragon's whipping tail. The blackness went past him, but still Damian was thrown to the ground. When he hit he rolled to the side to dodge the Dragon landing on him, and then tried to fly towards where Leon and Raphael were still frantically fighting Bryce, but the dragon was in front of him again, swinging out with both claws. Even as he dodged he could see that Leon and Raphael were having problems.

The two of them just could not get a good cut on Bryce when on both sides of him. He seemed to be able to literally see in the back of him. So, as if with one mind, they circled back and began to fight side-by-side. This was truly a wonderful thing to behold, as they spun past each other, blocked for each other, rolled over each other, and used each other as jumping posts to execute even more intricate attacks. Now Bryce was able to fight with both of his hands in front of him, but he had to fight even harder than before against their combined abilities. He let his eyes come back, and marveled at the brothers' complete synchronization. No sooner had he attacked than Leon defended him and Raphael had attacked him. It did not matter which way he attacked from; Leon was somehow able to be there, with his large sword and perfect guard, to block him. Not even seconds after the block Raphael was rolling under, spinning around, or leaping off his brother to attack again. Bryce knew that he would have lost to these with only one sword, and was grateful he had paid enough attention to them while fighting Damian earlier to tell what they would do.

Still, they seemed almost like one being with two bodies, with their movements perfectly matching one another and both of absolutely one mind. He knew he had to do something past what he usually did, and as attacked with his large sword and blocked Raphael with his small one, he let go of his eyes and looked down under them. He was pleased to see a root had made its way to them, and as he swung low and blocked horizontally above him to keep Raphael, who had leapt into the air, from taking his head, he gave the root a silent command. When he brought his eyes back, he reacted too late when he saw Raphael had hooked his two swords around Bryce's one and swung himself around. He kicked Bryce in the snout, and brought his swords around to decapitate him. With nothing left to do, Bryce stabbed his large sword up and blocked the blows. This gave Leon a chance and he lunged forward for what just may have been the deathblow.

At that moment, though, a large root burst from the ground under his feet and wound its way around him. In moments he was stuck mid-swing, with a large root and many other, smaller ones that had sprouted from it, constricting every one of his limbs. One even spun around his sword.

"A druid!" Leon gasped as he was completely immobilized.

Raphael noticed the danger he was in, so he leapt back, but in a flash Bryce was on top of him, swinging both of his swords with all of his speed and strength. Raphael gave ground as he ducked, dodged, and even leapt over the strikes. He tried attacking Bryce's arms as they passed by, but the wounds healed after each attack, so he could make no progress. Eventually he grew tired of dodging, and he looked at his brother, who was struggling to get out of the wood and yelling for him. They locked eyes, and Leon whispered "No."

Then he yelled out. "No!"

"Bye." Raphael whispered back as he ducked under one last strike and charged forward. He saw Bryce's smaller sword swing towards his head, but he was done with defense. He stabbed out with both swords and smiled when he saw them pierce Bryce's chest. He saw them go to the hilt, and then the world tilted to the side. The last thing he saw was his own body and Bryce's bloody sword swinging past it. Then the world went black. When his head landed, it was facing Leon, and it was still smiling.

"No!" Leon yelled as Bryce grimaced and pulled the swords out of his chest. They had pierced both of his lungs, and one even nicked his heart, but even as blood flowed from his wounds they began too close, and he was alive.

Damian saw from where he was, and he felt something within him break. He growled, and this, time, when the dragon blew its breath at him he charged it, yelling out. The darkness enveloped him, and in seconds he felt like countless blades were slicing through every part of his body. Pain shot through him, and he felt like he was falling to pieces. He wondered if the pain would ever end, but just when he felt his left arm begin to disengage from the rest of his body, he was through the dark flame and came out right under the dragon. Damian grabbed his left arm with his right and held it to him as he used his ruined wings to fly towards Bryce. Blood was spraying from every part of him, but he could not let himself think about that.

Unfortunately, after three beats his right wing broke off, and Damian fell to the ground. As soon as he hit, he switched to his normal vampire form, and looked like nothing was wrong with him. It was a strange sensation, to suddenly go from pure agony to feeling nothing. Even the other wing was no longer on the ground. He leapt to the ground and ran at Bryce, who was walking towards Leon. He was almost at the beginning of the clearing when Bryce reached Leon, grabbed the root, and melted into it. Damian stopped in his tracks, and for a second he had no idea what to think of what had just happened, but then he figured that he had best save Leon. Too late, he realized that he was right next to a tree, and as he spun around he saw a clawed hand disappear into the tree with the keys to the shackles clasped in its grasp.

The first thought that flashed through Damian's mind was about the hostages, but at that moment saving his friend was more important. He ran towards Leon, but even as he was about enter the clearing a first class leg came out of the last tree and smashed into him. He was sent flying back, into another giant foot that sprouted from another tree and stopped his movement. His arms and legs flung behind him, protesting the sudden stop, and he felt Bryce's claws pierce his spine. A hand came from the tree and backhanded him back in the same direction he had been trying to go in the beginning. His flight was helped by a two-handed smash from a branch, and Damian went up into the air over the clearing. He lost momentum, and hung in the air for a moment, but then Bryce was there, with his large fist cocked behind him. When he punched him, Damian's vision went white and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, with Bryce on top of him. His foot was on Damian's chest, but Damian could not feel it there.

Bryce looked down at Damian, and his expression was mixed. "I'm sorry, Damian. I've been the one to kill your comrades one at a time, and yet you allowed me to live, so I will return the favor tonight. You and your friend may live, but I will take the Queen and Lupine back with me. I wish I could have fought you honorably, like last time, but we are too evenly matched, and I cannot risk their safety. Count yourself lucky."

Damian looked to the side, at Raphael's head, and began to shift into his Other form, but even as he did he felt his wounds re-open, and his problems were multiplied when Bryce lifted his foot up and slammed it back onto him. Damian slowly morphed back, and Bryce smiled.

"That's right. Just lie quietly." He shifted to his normal werewolf form and went to the Queen and Lupine. Damian watched him unlock their shackles and start to lead them towards the werewolf dragon. He wanted to move, but his body would not obey him. He could not move, talk, or barely think. All that went through him were notions and emotions, and all he felt at the moment was despair. His entire body was limp, and his eyes slowly closed.

The Queen looked behind her at Damian, then at Lupine, who was crying softly, and finally she turned to Bryce. "What about him?"

"He's dead." Bryce tried to look satisfied with what he had done.

"Good." Lupine had such spite in her eyes that Bryce was almost taken aback, until he remembered what had happened to her.

The dragon was still about thirty feet away from them when Damian's eyes flicked open again. He was staring straight at Leon, who looked back at him. Leon smiled.

"Goodbye." He whispered, before he grunted and twisted his sword with his grip and broke the root around it. Within seconds he was free, and he soundlessly ran towards the group with his sword hanging behind him. Damian wanted to tell him to stop. He wanted to tell him that revenge was pointless. That it would not bring his brother back. That they needed to go back to the vampires. That his brother had not died in vain. He wanted to say all of those things, but all that came from his throat was a strangled gasp.

He did not know if Bryce heard him, or just somehow knew that Leon was behind him. Regardless, he kept walking until Leon leapt into the air behind him and swung out. His large sword kept heading towards Bryce, but then Bryce's sword was out. He deflected the attack and, in one motion, morphed only his arm into its first class form, turn around, and smashed it into Leon's chest. Leon's eyes widened, and he let go of his sword as he was thrown back and into the air. He went up in an arc, but was quickly stopped by a tree.

Damian was watching him, and in his pain-thickened mind, he kept expecting Leon to slide down the tree. Leon never did, though, and when the pain had cleared a little, Damian saw a branch sticking out of his chest. His body was slack, and his eyes were dead.

Seeing his only other companion die cleared Damian's senses like a splash of cold water, and he looked around as if for the first time in ages. He saw Raphael's body lying in the blood still flowing from his open neck, and his head lying not ten feet away. He saw Leon still suspended in air by a sharp branch through him, and he saw that Bryce, the dragon, and those women had left. He tried to move once again, but found that his legs were broken, and he could not feel his left arm. He did not know the rules behind morphing to his Other form, but he felt like he was feeling the repercussions now. Still, he had to move. He had to live.

He rolled onto his side and crawled forward using only his right hand. It took him many agonizing minutes, but eventually he reached Raphael, whose heart he swiftly pulled out and devoured. When he felt the bones in his legs and his arm fuse themselves together, he stood up shakily, and then ran to the tree Leon hung from and leapt to him. He latched his fingernails into the bark and pulled Leon off before falling back to the ground. Laying Leon next to Raphael, he regretted not being able to give them a funeral, or even a burial. The best he could do was take Leon's heart as well, and then run off into the night towards vampire territory.

In a sick way, it was fitting that they had died within minutes of each other and to the same opponent. They had done everything together, and now they died together. Both of them killed by the only werewolf Damian could not bring himself to hate. The only werewolf, or vampire, who was not scum. Now almost half of his squad was dead, and he had no idea what had happened to the others. As he ran, he wondered how he had become this way again. He was without any companions. He was, once again, alone.

"You cannot be serious." Aaron sounded incredulous.

"Would I joke about something like this?" Victoria looked terrible, and she sounded like hell. "Bryce not only defeated that Dragon, brought it with him, beat Damian, killed those two with him, and then let Damian live."

Aaron cursed. "How was he even able to kill that dragon?"

"I don't know." Victoria put her head in her hands. "That dragon has killed every werewolf we sent after him, even first classes. He was like our disposal system. We didn't think it was possible to defeat him. We did not know about his druidic powers, and I think that played a large role."

"Damn, so not only do we not start our final battle, but both of our problems lived?" The mere thought of such failure made Aaron's head ache.

"Well, yes." Victoria sounded contrite.

"And why didn't you just kill both of them then?"

"And then what? Kill her too? And then the dragon? And then say that Damian killed them and her but that I got away safely? There's far too many holes in that story."

Aaron growled. "Why can't anything go right for us?" She obviously thought that he was talking about the war, but he had just wanted to see her for once.

"It's okay. I have a plan. I hadn't wanted to do this, but I guess I'll have to. I think I might know _someone_ who can convince the King to take the battle into the open."

For the first time in awhile, Aaron laughed. "Yes, you do that. Meanwhile, the vampire council of war will be convened soon and I'll be there. Events are moving swiftly so make sure that Lueke is informed."

"I will. Goodbye, Aaron." She had never said his name that way, and it sent shivers down his spine.

"Goodbye, Victoria." He savored the word more than fine blood.

"I will not endanger my people like this. The vampires know that we are here, and if they try to assault us we can easily defeat them within our caves. But if we march out we will be subject to whatever twisted treachery the vampires can think of. It may very well cause our destruction." The King's voice was firm, but it held a note of desperation. He was not used to arguing with anyone, least of all his own Queen.

"You are a fool!" Where is your courage? You're acting like one of the vampires with such cowardice!" The Queen shouted back at him.

"But dear—."

"Don't "dear" me, I was captured from within our very walls, made to watch my handmaidens slaughtered before my eyes, and almost raped. I demand that, if you have any honor, you will destroy those vampires."

"My dear," he said, in a voice that brooked no interruption. "I understand your feelings, but you must understand that I must weigh your pain against that of our people. If we do this, thousands of them will undoubtedly die."

"Your people are stumbling over themselves to express their zeal to destroy the vampires. The best gift you could give them would be to release them on our foes. They've been cooped up in here for far too long. Release them on the world once again. Let them be free to do what they were meant to do. What they were made to do. You must do this, not just for me, but for our people, our forefathers, and our creator."

Still he hesitated, but eventually he bowed his head and slumped back in his chair. "I know that you are right, my love. I'll have the counsel convene tomorrow. I just hope that we are not making the biggest mistake in our history."

She smiled and kissed him before leaving. When she left the chamber, followed by Lupine, who was her impromptu maid for now, her head drooped and she leaned against a wall. "I just hope I'm doing the right thing."

Lupine came up behind her and placed her hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Don't worry, highness, you did."

The Queen smiled back behind her and covered Lupine's hand with her own. "Thank you."

- 15 -


	17. The Second Aftermath

A quick note. Anyone who has read the last chapter will see about one, maybe two pages worth of the same material. That's a "my bad." I included the stuff in the last chapter without thinking, and so now it's here, just surrounded by other stuff… Okay, that's all I got, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

17

The Second Aftermath

When Nightwing landed on the ground next to Stone Wolf, the entity looked rather surprised, and a little chagrinned. He gave a sigh as Bryce came up to him with the Queen and Lupine in tow.

"Ah, and I was just starting to like you, Deathfang. And then you go and do two things to help the werewolves. I don't think our friendship can survive such affronts."

Bryce could not tell if Stone Wolf was joking or not so he smiled anyway. "I know Stone Wolf, but my slave is still in there, and she would not be allowed to live unless brought the Queen back safely."

"Thanks for caring about me too." Lupine sounded completely dejected, but all Bryce could do was flash her a helpless smile.

"Yea, whatever," Stone Wolf sighed again. "Just come on in and receive all the praise that's due. Oh, and we do not yet have a proper residence for the dragon, but I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something soon. Now, tell me your name and rank."

"Nightwing, fifth class." The weredragon was beaming at his newfound power.

"Very well, come in then, all of you."

They entered the cavern and began the walk back to the werewolf lair. Along the way, they came across the mutilated bodies of handmaidens, and each one only served to increase Lupine's soft crying. The Queen remained studiously placid, even after seeing the very first handmaiden to die. No werewolf had left the lair, so the bodies had been left intact. This one's head still stared at its body with a look of fear and pain. Even then, the Queen kept her head upright, with only a twitch of her mouth to show that she even saw the cadaver.

Soon after that last scene, they reached the large door that marked the beginning of the lair. When Bryce knocked on it, the slit was opened and a cry of exultation exuded from the guard. The door swung open and countless werewolves rushed out to greet their queen and Lupine. They seemed to be never ending, and Bryce had no desire to be among the festivities. He ran his hand along the wall of the cavern until he found a root, focused on it, and in an instant he was on the other side of the wall in an abandoned side street.

He started to go to his house, but then figured that they would not hold her there. If she was still alive she would be in the prison, so that was his best bet. He swiftly changed to his first class form and charged down the street. At first he did not know where to go, but soon he found a familiar street, and from then it was only a matter of time before he reached the prison. The guards let him in at first, and he found his way to the blackened hallways that still smelled of burnt flesh. Each gate down the hallways was broken down, and when he reached the stairway, even he was given pause. Bodies littered the steps. Limbs by the dozen were flung over every part, and even though werewolves were at that moment cleaning up the bodies—and taking their hearts, of course—there were still at least a hundred bodies still lying about in various death throes.

Bryce continued his way down the steps, slipping a couple times on entrails, but generally making it without incident. When he reached the last gate, which was still intact, strangely enough, he found it locked and guarded by two first classes. They eyed him as he came up.

"I wish to see the prisoner slave Serenade. She is to be released immediately."

"Our orders were to keep her here until the Queen was brought back and to kill her if whoever it was that went after her failed." The first class on the side eyed Bryce with a challenge.

"The Queen has been brought back, and I am the one who went after her." Bryce took just a modicum of pleasure at seeing them cringe back. News must have already spread about his defeat of Nightwing.

"Well then, I suppose that there would be no more reason to hold her." The first class almost shrank back, but retained enough pride to not seem subservient. They unlocked the gate, and Bryce walked inside. He saw Serenade, chained to the ground and bloody, and for one moment he was ready to kill her keepers, but then she looked up. He saw her face light up and she smiled in a way he had never seen her do before. He walked up to her and knelt down next to her. Upon closer inspection, the blood was not hers, and she seemed relatively unharmed.

A guard came up and unlocked her, and Bryce scooped her up in his arms and began to walk her out. As soon as they passed the gateway, though, she slipped out of his arms and dropped to the floor to walk beside him. He made no comment save to morph down into his normal werewolf form.

After they were out of the jail, Serenade was the first one to speak. She turned to him, and her face was a mask of confusion.

"So, you saved the Queen?"

"Yes." Bryce noticed that she seemed more morose than she had when she first saw him, and wondered why she would change.

"And what about D—The vampires?" She stuttered, and Bryce did not miss it.

"Two were killed, while the third one, their leader, escaped."

"Damn." Her ferocity gave him pause, and for the first time he wondered what had happened to her.

"What did they do to you?" He was worried, having just barely saved Lupine.

Abruptly she spun around and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his fur and began weeping. "I…I thought that he was different. He saved me so long ago, but then, he used me, just like all of the others. He invaded me, made me do his will, when I trusted him. I gave up my life to follow what he told me. His words were everything to me, but now I know that he's just like all of the other vampires, just like the werewolves." She was sobbing now, and her body racked as she shoulders heaved against him. "He's just a scum."

Bryce could not help but feel sorry for her. He had no idea that Damian was so entangled in this girl's life, or that he had made such a profound impact on her. He knew he was risking something in telling her this, but he knew it would be best for her.

"The truth is, Serenade, I let Damian go."

She stopped crying and looked up at him with an expression of pure rage. "Why?! Why would you do that? How could you do that? After what he did to me? I thought you were different from them, I know you're different from them." She tried to break from holding onto him, but now he held her, gently but firmly. She needed to hear the rest of what he had to say.

"I let Damian live because he did the same for me."

She stopped struggling and looked back up at him, confusion was in her eyes.

He continued. "I was the first one there when they found the lair, and I killed one of his allies before fighting him. We fought fairly, even with him knowing that I killed his ally. I was defeated, but he did not kill me. He risked capture and death simply because he thought that I should live since my eyes were blue. After that, I could not bring myself to kill him when in the same position. I think that he is different from the others, Serenade."

He could see her trying to process that information, but eventually she buried her face in his chest again. "Just take me back home, Bryce."

________________________________________________________________________

"You cannot be serious." Aaron sounded incredulous.

"Would I joke about something like this?" Victoria looked terrible, and she sounded like hell. "Bryce not only defeated that Dragon, brought it with him, beat Damian, killed those two with him, and then let Damian live."

Aaron cursed. "How was he even able to kill that dragon?"

"I don't know." Victoria put her head in her hands. "That dragon has killed every werewolf we sent after him, even first classes. He was like our disposal system. We didn't think it was possible to defeat him. We did not know about his druidic powers, and I think that played a large role."

"Damn, so not only do we not start our final battle, but both of our problems lived?" The mere thought of such failure made Aaron's head ache.

"Well, yes." Victoria sounded contrite.

"And why didn't you just kill both of them then?"

"And then what? Kill her too? And then the dragon? And then say that Damian killed them and her but that I got away safely? There's far too many holes in that story."

Aaron growled. "Why can't anything go right for us?" She obviously thought that he was talking about the war, but he had just wanted to see her for once.

"It's okay. I have a plan. I hadn't wanted to do this, but I guess I'll have to. I think I might know _someone_ who can convince the King to take the battle into the open."

For the first time in awhile, Aaron laughed. "Yes, you do that. Meanwhile, the vampire council of war will be convened soon and I'll be there. Events are moving swiftly so make sure that Lueke is informed."

"I will. Goodbye, Aaron." She had never said his name that way, and it sent shivers down his spine.

"Goodbye, Victoria." He savored the word more than fine blood.

"I will not endanger my people like this. The vampires know that we are here, and if they try to assault us we can easily defeat them within our caves. But if we march out we will be subject to whatever twisted treachery the vampires can think of. It may very well cause our destruction." The King's voice was firm, but it held a note of desperation. He was not used to arguing with anyone, least of all his own Queen.

"You are a fool!" Where is your courage? You're acting like one of the vampires with such cowardice!" The Queen shouted back at him.

"But dear—."

"Don't "dear" me, I was captured from within our very walls, made to watch my handmaidens slaughtered before my eyes, and almost raped. I demand that, if you have any honor, you will destroy those vampires."

"My dear," he said, in a voice that brooked no interruption. "I understand your feelings, but you must understand that I must weigh your pain against that of our people. If we do this, thousands of them will undoubtedly die."

"Your people are stumbling over themselves to express their zeal to destroy the vampires. The best gift you could give them would be to release them on our foes. They've been cooped up in here for far too long. Release them on the world once again. Let them be free to do what they were meant to do. What they were made to do. You must do this, not just for me, but for our people, our forefathers, and our creator."

Still he hesitated, but eventually he bowed his head and slumped back in his chair. "I know that you are right, my love. I'll have the council convene today. I just hope that we are not making the biggest mistake in our history."

She smiled and kissed him before leaving. When she left the chamber, followed by Lupine, who was her impromptu maid for now, her head drooped and she leaned against a wall. "I just hope I'm doing the right thing."

Lupine came up behind her and placed her hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Don't worry, highness, you did."

The Queen smiled back behind her and covered Lupine's hand with her own. "Thank you."

The King came out soon and called out to his closest guard. "I want to have a council meeting immediately. We are going to prepare for war. Oh, and make sure that Deathfang is called as well."

Both Bryce and Serenade had been rather wary of the summons for him to meet in the council chamber, but when he entered, Bryce saw that this was not a punishment. Although he was forced to wonder just how this event would have gone had he failed to retrieve the Queen, and he shuddered to think of what would have happened to Serenade.

Regardless, things had worked out, this time, and here he was standing before the King, Queen, and all of the council members, including the generals. The first thing Bryce did was bow as low as he could. He did not come back up until the King recognized him, but when he looked up he saw that the King was smiling, and he was relieved.

The King spoke to him first. "Welcome back, Deathfang. Between being the first werewolf to capture a dragon and also saving my wife, your actions of late have been nothing short of heroic, and we are not the kind that do not reward heroism. As of today, you are one of our generals. You may have command of any number of warriors under one thousand. Please take a seat along with the other generals.

Bryce felt strange sitting next to those individuals who, in his short time with the werewolves, had been made out as legends of their time. He wondered if he was even worthy of being associated with them.

When he was seated, the King addressed the entire council. "As I'm sure you're all aware, we will be having a war soon. The final war, and hopefully the one that will spell the end of the vampires. We have hidden ourselves in this lair for far too long, and I believe that our plans have finally come to fruition. The vampires have never seen our forces, and as such do not know how many of us there are. They will be overconfident, and we will crush them. Now, I am here to ask all of you to lend us your aid in this battle. First, I ask the generals. Scar, as the eldest and greatest of our warriors, I ask you first. What will you do?"

Scar, his fur gray, and covered with his namesakes, struggled up on what seemed unsteady legs. When he stood, though, his body seemed to lose years, and his voice spoke with a vibrancy that belied his great age. "My King, myself and all of the warriors under my command will join you in your war."

The King nodded to his old friend. "Now, Blood."

Blood stood, and to Bryce, it seemed as if he were even larger and his muscles stronger than before. He bore no scars of his previous fight, and his visage was calm. "My King, myself and all of the warriors under my command will join you."

"Good, Ghost."

The only werewolf of great renown that Bryce had yet to meet, Ghost stood. Like Scar, he seemed very old, but his fur was completely white. He seemed rather translucent. It was hard to just look at him, since right where you looked suddenly was blurred, but he appeared normal when one's attention was away from him. His voice flowed from him, even though his mouth barely moved. "My King, myself, all of my wizards, and all of the warriors under my command are at your disposal."

It was the same for all of the others until the King called on Bryce. Bryce stood and, instead of agreeing had to ask. "My King, may I ask why we must fight this war?"

The King seemed surprised, but not entirely angry at the question. "Because honor demands no less."

"Someone who I hold in high regard once told me that, while individuals can afford honor, it is not something kingdoms can have if they wish to survive, sire. Why can we not try some other alternative to a full scale war?"

Scar stood, and was recognized. He turned to Bryce and Smiled. "Your question is wise, Deathfang, and I hesitate to call you child though you are new to us. However, we are werewolves, and most of us did not show restraint during our first bloodlust." Interestingly, Bryce just then noticed that Scar's, Ghost's, and the King's eyes were all colored. "See, our brothers are bloodthirsty, and if they do not have war, they would eventually turn on one another. The vampires know this, and would undoubtedly blockade the entrance to our lair, where they could bottleneck us. Within weeks, the vast majority of us would be dead."

Bryce conceded the point and gave the affirmation like all of the others before sitting down.

Other council members, those who were not generals, but were still either wealthy or powerful enough to have a large number of followers, were called upon. Some seemed to be mighty warriors, while others looked obese, if that were even possible for werewolves. In the end, all of them gave their consent, though some less willingly than others. When all of the formalities were over, the King smiled.

"I thank you all for your support, now, we will begin our discussions of the war." But before they could to so, the council chamber rooms opened, and three figures walked through. The guards at the door came to attention immediately, but relaxed when they saw who was there. The three figures walked up to the center of the room, and Bryce recognized Nightwing as the largest of the three, but the other two were strangers to him.

The one in front, who looked like a strange breed of werewolf, spoke first. His fur was silver, not gray, like Scar's, but shining and beautiful. He was larger than most of them, but he was not bulky, rather, he was refined in a way Bryce could only marvel at. His snout was slightly less elongated than a normal werewolf's was, and it ended in a rather flat face. His eyes were pure black and very large, and they seemed to absorb Bryce as he spoke.

"My dear cousin. Surely you were not thinking of having a beautiful war without my aid, were you?"

The King smiled. "Of course not, Lyke. I had thought to contact you once these proceedings were over, but I see that you have preempted me."

Lyke bowed at the waist. "Yes indeed, anyway. Myself and all of my Razorclaw warriors are here to fight with our Archean brothers. We will slay many vampires!"

"Good, good. And I suppose that you are here for the same reason, Rhave." The King turned to the third member of the party, who looked like a diminutive human, more suited to bookkeeping than being included with such warriors. Had Bryce been in the vampire slayers still, he would have looked down on this tiny man, but now he had learned stop believing his eyes. The little man spoke in a voice that, while squeaky, held an undertone of ferocity that disturbed Bryce.

"Yes, myself and all Lycanthropes that I could muster shall come to this battle and support you."

"Excellent. I know of no force on this earth that could defeat the army that we shall bring to the field!" The King looked exultant.

"And don't forget about me. I'll also pledge my service to you, King." Nightwing flexed his wings and clenched his claws for effect.

The King was beaming by the time everyone exited, but as he left, Bryce looked back with his other eyes and saw that he was very troubled.

When he got back to his house, Serenade was sitting on a chair. When she saw him she jumped up and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him like she had before, but this time he had no idea what she wanted, so he simply returned her embrace. While he did, he shifted back into his elf form let go of his eyes so that he could really Look at her.

"I'm so glad you're back, Bryce. It was terrible, the things they spoke of doing to me while I was in jail." She trembled a bit when she said it.

He let her cling to him a bit longer before gently disengaging and pushing her away a bit do that they cloud look at each other. "Serenade, there's something I need you to do for me."

She calmed down, and he knew that she must have felt rejected, but he could not deal with that now. "What is it?" She did not sound particularly enthusiastic.

"The vampires and werewolves are going to have a huge battle, maybe the last one we'll ever have. I need you to sneak out of here, go to the vampire slayers, and alert them of the circumstances. Make sure you talk to E and tell him that Bryce sent you. He'll listen to you, and he'll know what to do."

She started to nod, but then stopped as her eyes narrowed. "You're not coming with me?"

"I must stay here. They just made me a captain, and this is my chance to know everything they know about the war, and maybe even assassinate one of their leaders. Besides, they would know if I left, but I can explain your leaving."

She did not seem satisfied. "You sure this is not just your instinct talking?"

He grinned rather sheepishly. Well, there may be some of that as well, but I can assure you that this decision comes from me, and not Deathfang. I'm staying here because it is what's best for both of us."

That must have satisfied her, for she soon went about collecting her armor, weapons, and gear. She was about to head out of the doorway, with all of her items inside an old rag, when she stopped and turned around. "Uh, Bryce, won't you have to tell Stone Wolf that I have permission to leave?"

He smiled. "Ah, about that. I told him the first day we came here that you were free to leave at any time you wished."

"Good." She lingered for a bit, as if unsure of what to do, before dropping her sack of gear, running to him, kissing him, and then running out while grabbing the bag. She was blushing, and she left behind a very surprised elf.

Damian ducked under the blade as it passed inches from the top of his head and stabbed out with own sword in one hand. The vampire ended his swing by twisting his wrist and slapping Damian's sword away almost contemptuously. Once the sword was out, the other lunged in and stabbed at Damian's front leg, making him hastily bend it to dodge, stabbed at his chest, which Damian blocked, and then once more at his face. Damian had to shove his sword in front of his head to redirect the others' sword, but even then, it cut a fine line across his cheek. Damian pushed the sword out of the way in time to see a fist as it smashed into his face.

He fell back with the blow, but rolled over his shoulder and back onto his feet once he hit the ground. In the end, he was on his feet, but with a cut on his left cheek and many cuts on the right side of his face. His opponent laughed.

"Are you prepared to concede the match, Damian?"

"Not yet, General Darius. It is custom for only the instigator of the challenge to withdraw it." His bravado was somewhat lost on the General, who could see that he was panting.

Darius nodded in response and slowly advanced with his blade forward. He took careful steps, determined to not take Damian too lightly, while at the same time figuring how to crush him completely. He saw that vampires were already beginning to gather and smiled to himself. 'Good, now even more can witness me put this whelp in his place. With this, my generalship is secured.'

Damian was not feeling quite as cocksure. He was hurting. Not just from the punch, but from the beating he received from Bryce, and the ramifications of almost being sliced to pieces by the weredragon. More than anything else, though, he was hurting in his mind. He had been beaten far too many times in the last week or so, and he had seen too many friends die. He was feeling frustrated, and angry. Any hope he had of relaxing and trying to find the surviving members of his squad were now lost as the first one to meet him at the gate had been Darius. Damian knew why Darius was attacking him, but he also knew that he could not refuse the challenge. All of these problems coalesced into only two feelings: Exhaustion and rage, and he was not sure which one was stronger. It seemed, though, that fatigue would win, as he was panting and letting his sword droop even as Darius slowly walked towards him. He ached to be using his spear, but honor demands that a duel must be fought with a sword.

Darius wasted no time in lunging forward with his supernatural speed, and before Damian even knew what was happening, Darius' sword was heading for his heart. Desperately, Damian dodged to the right, and just barely evaded death. He pulled both of his hands back and swung his sword at Darius with all of the strength he could muster, but the other vampires slapped the sword away with his off-hand. Just then Damian noticed that Darius was wearing metal gauntlets, which would also explain all of the cuts from the punch. Despite his weariness and anger, he still put that away as a good idea.

Then Darius turned, and all of Damian's thoughts were lost in backpedaling and trying to defend each slash and thrust that came his way. He had not even known anyone could attack this swiftly until this day, and he was even more astonished each time he managed to block at strike. Many times, he was not even aware that an attack was heading towards him until he had already blocked it, and he could only thank his many years of battle experience for reflexes beyond his understanding. Still Darius kept up the attack. He never faltered once in his onslaught, and he chased Damian all across the circle that had been formed as more and more people came to watch the duel. Each time Damian was near the end of the circle he would slowly work his way to an angle, while still blocking or dodging every strike, until he was headed another way.

Still blocking would get him nowhere, so at one point he blocked and then slashed out at Darius, who simply stepped back, let the sword pass him by, and then stepped after it. He smashed his sword down of Damian's and the strength of it made Damian's hands go limp as his blade fell to the ground. Damian was about to dive and retrieve it, but in another second Darius' sword was at his throat, and Darius himself was smiling.

"Very good, Damian, but now it is time for you to surrender if you do not want to die like the rest of your squad."

Then, looking into the eyes of his general, Damian felt all of the rage that had been accumulating inside him flow through him. He saw Lidian, Raphael, and Leon die while Serenade called him scum and countless werewolves beat him mercilessly. He felt danger all around him, as if he should warn those around, but before he could the pain reached his brain, and something inside him snapped.

A growl fled from his throat as he lunged forward. Darius' sword plunged through his neck and sliced through half of it, but Damian did not feel it. His vision was red, and all he could see was Darius' surprised face. He shot out his left hand, grabbed Darius' dominant wrist, and pulled him towards him while swinging his right hand up towards his extended right elbow. The sickening crunch that followed made Damian smile, and he grabbed Darius' metal-clad left hand with his right before pulling him close and headbutting him in the face. He then lifted a foot up and slammed it into Darius' right leg, causing another snap and making Darius fall down.

His pain and weariness suddenly gone, Damian watched with satisfaction as Darius dropped to the ground, but then he realized that he was on top of him, sitting on his chest and pinning him to the ground. His hand was raised, and his nails somehow seemed sharper than they ever had. He slung his hand across Darius' face and laughed as blood flew from it, then he slashed with his other hand, and Darius' head jerked back the other way as he groaned in pain. Back and forth Damian sent his head as he pulled his hands back and swung them back down in succession.

Finally, when there was more blood than flesh left on his face, Damian pulled his chin up and stuck his teeth into his neck. It took him only a moment before he found the artery, and then he drank deeply of Darius' lifeblood. He wanted it, all of it, but just as he reached a dangerous level he came to his senses and flung himself away from the general. His eyes widened and he looked around to see all of the spectators speechless. They looked at him in silence, and he could say nothing to them as well. Killing a vampire in a duel was supposedly forbidden, and even though it was loosely regulated, the affront of killing the general would mean certain death for Damian. He looked around for another moment.

"Somebody, please…Please get him some blood!"

Nobody moved.

Damian growled again and ran to Darius. The general really did seem dead, but Damian could tell that he was still alive. He stubbornly held on to life, even when a lesser man would have died. Having nothing else to do, Damian drew his knife and cut along his wrist, placing it above Darius and letting the blood flow into his mouth. A few seconds after he started, he saw Darius' flesh begin to grow back on his face, and then he stopped, knowing that his work was done. The general would at least live, but Damian knew that he had made a powerful enemy this night. He wished then that he had simply surrendered, or even not taken the challenge at all, but it was too late for that.

Just as he stood, two second class vampires pushed through the crowd and came to the front. They stopped when they saw what had happened, but Damian could tell that they were Darius' aids. He gestured to the body, and they gratefully ran to it. Bottles appeared from their cloaks, and in seconds they too were pouring blood down his throat.

Still no one spoke as Damian collected his weapons. In fact, besides the aids, no one made any noise at all, or even moved. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone clapped. It was not the spontaneous clapping that invited more before it turned into a roaring exultation. No, it was the kind of clap that dared anyone else to join in, promising pain to those who did. Slowly, the crowd parted as a vampire walked up between them. Damian groaned on the inside when he saw who it was that was congratulating him. Dimitrious, the oldest living vampire, the head councilor, and the one to be most feared when being congratulated by.

His clap was that of a superior to an inferior who had managed to do something amusing, and even though he was smiling, his smiles never really made it to being a full-fledged smile, and always turned into something of a sneer.

Even with being the oldest living vampire, Dimitrious still looked relatively young, which surprised Damian. It was said that vampires are immortal, but that was only true as a technicality. Just like all things, vampires eventually fell to decay. They start losing their ability to gain sustenance from blood, and then, unless they enough influence to have blood constantly delivered to them, they slowly begin to age. Their skin shrivels, their hair grays, and they even lose their ability to see in the dark. They can never truly die of old age, but it is only a matter of time before another vampire or even a human destroys them in their weakened state.

The fact that Dimitrious still looked to be in his prime was frightening. This meant that he either had no such decaying in his system even though almost all around him had experienced such, or that he was powerful enough to have mass quantities of blood at his disposal. Neither prospect comforted Damian as he stared into the face of one of the most dangerous vampires in the city. It was Dimitrious who spoke first.

"Nicely done, Damian. Primitive, and I'm sure also highly frowned upon, but undeniably effective."

Damian had no idea what to say or expect, so he did not sheath his sword, but kept it at his side in an attempt to be non-threatening. When Dimitrious saw him in this posture, he laughed.

"Oh, no. Don't misunderstand me. I have no love for that one, as powerful as he is. No, the one I am most interested in here is you. Now, come with me."

He abruptly turned and walked back down the path he had recently created by walking up to Damian. Damian followed, since it was not the smartest idea to disobey a direct order from a member of the council. They walked for a bit, moving through several different quarters of the city and eliciting more than one excited wave of whispers. Damian disliked the groups who would gather and begin talking. He knew that the discovery of the werewolf lair would have made him known, but since coming to the castle he had been far too much in the public eye. A vampire did not live long when noticed too much, and what with Darius already having a grudge against him, Damian wanted nothing more than to not be seen.

Nonetheless, here he was, waltzing through the streets behind one of the most notorious vampires in the city. He was thankful when Dimitrious finally turned down an alleyway and stopped in front of a nondescript door in a nondescript wall. He looked around furtively, then placed his hand on the door and spoke a few words. The door swung inwards, and after another look Dimitrious slipped in, pulling Damian after him.

His grip was not threatening, so Damian permitted it, but when they entered the room, nothing was inside it. Only four walls, the ceiling, and the floor made up the house, and the door in which they entered was the only other fixture inside it. Damian did not understand what this meant, but he did not like the direction this was going, so he swiftly, but gently disengaged his hand from Dimitrious' and took one step back. Dimitrious, for his part, turned around with a self-satisfied look on his face.

"What did you wish to see me about, sir?" Damian said, trying to be respectful.

"Oh, please," Dimitrious shook his hands in front of him. "No 'sirs' here, I simply cannot abide by them. They make me feel old."

Damian felt rather confused by this. "Okay, what did you wish to see me about, Dimitrious?"

He flashed another one of his sneer smiles. "Well, Damian, I'm sure that you've realized your name has been very much in conversation these days. Indeed, you are the first vampire in a very long time to achieve your Other form without the necessary requirements. That alone made all eyes subtly shift towards you, mine most of all, but then you shocked us all by finding the werewolf lair, which had been hidden since its first creation."

Suddenly, it hit Damian that one of his squad members had survived. He had taken that for granted before, but now that the information was validated, he felt comforted.

"These two special events, though seemingly unrelated, tell me much about you, Damian. These are not two random, very surreptitious events that just happened to fall onto you. The chances of both of those happening to one person are astronomically low. You must not have thought of them this way, but you must understand, yes? These are not coincidences, Damian, they're gifts."

"Gifts?" Damian had no idea where he was headed.

Dimitrious snapped his fingers. "Yes! Gifts from Lucifer."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me but, Lucifer is dead, is he not?"

A degrading chuckle emanated from Dimitrious. "Oh no, not that Lucifer. That vampire was simply an agent. He was very powerful, but he was still only a vampire endowed with strength by our god and creator, Lucifer. Perhaps not the only one, either."

Lucifer, Damian knew that name while he had been a human, and nothing said about him had been good. Although nothing said about Vampires was good either, so he supposed it was fitting that he had created them. "So wait, you think that I am being favored by Lucifer so that I will become his next agent or something?"

Dimitrious nodded. "We believe that Lucifer foresaw the upcoming battle and has chosen you to be one of his elect, maybe even his champion."

"And you think this because of what I've done?"

Dimitrious looked to the side. "Well, not just that. Sometimes, Lucifer sends us direct messages, using one of our bodies as mediums. Generally, the process of granting a message to us is quite damaging to the body of the vampire, and they rarely live through it, so the message we finally get is very vague and garbled. From what we've been able to gather recently, a champion will soon be chosen from among us, and based on certain qualifications, we believe it to be you."

Damian was following, but he caught something that concerned him. "We?"

Dimitrious nodded. "Damian, have you ever wondered why we are able to achieve our Other form? Or how we can control others with only our eyes? These are just the most basic of our gifts, gifts given to us by Lucifer himself. These and a few others he gives for free, but for his other, far greater gifts, he demands a price. Complete devotion and obedience are required before you can feel the power that he truly meant for us to have. Those of us who have accepted Lucifer as our master and pledged our devotion to him have seen the true strength of the vampires. We are a sect within a sect. A power within a power. We are the true vampires!" As he was talking, he had been walking around Damian, who followed him with his head. When he reached his climax he swung open the door that had lead outside, but instead of the alleyway, Damian saw a dark room with a single ray of light shining down on an alter in the middle of it. There were figures kneeling down, but they wore large black cloaks, so their numbers and identities were hidden from him.

Dimitrious swept into the room, but Damian hesitated at the door. Seeing this, Dimitrious laughed. "I assure you, Damian, it is quite safe. In fact, if you are smart, this may be the safest place in all of our forest."

As they entered, the figures turned towards them, and Damian saw flashes of familiar faces, although none of them could be seen long enough for him to recognize them. Some, who he did not recognize, even took off their hoods and smiled at him. He smiled back at them, or at least tried to. They walked to the altar, and slowly the ray of light shrank until there was complete darkness. Once they came up to the front of the altar, Dimitrious turned.

"So what will it be, lad? Will you accept the gifts of Lucifer and gain power beyond any other creature?"

Damian took one breath, slowly let it out, and then stared at Dimitrious. "No."

The smile plastered to Dimitrious' face vanished, but only for a second. It was back up momentarily. "Ah, you doubt the truth of our power, well then, I suppose I'll have to give you a small demonstration of our power then." He crouched in a battle stance. "Have at me."

The thought of another battle ground at Damian's sensibilities, and he wanted nothing more than to be let go, but he could see that this situation could not be exited by any normal fashion, so he drew his spear from his back with one hand, grabbed the shaft with the other when it was about half of the way through, and at last spun forward while swinging it at Dimitrious. As he had suspected, Dimitrious was no longer in front of him, but when he spun around, he was not there either. This meant that he could not have leapt over him, but where could he be? Damian looked up and saw Dimitrious flying in the air with wings that had sprouted from his back, but the rest of his body was normal.

"See Damian, we were flying long before we discovered our Other form." He laughed and plunged down towards Damian, who was barely able to roll out of the way as his wings contracted, hardened, and slashed into the ground where he had been. The wings cut deep gashes into the stone floor, and when he landed they contracted behind his back. Damian was up from his roll and ran to him, spinning his spear over his head once before bringing it sweeping down at his neck. Dimitrious lifted his hand up, and caught the edge of the spear in his palm. At first Damian thought he had metal grieves as well, but then he saw that Dimitrious' entire hand had turned to metal. He tried to grab the spear tip, but Damian spun and passed the spear behind his back to swing from the other side. Dimitrious' other hand blocked this strike in the same fashion, and this time he succeeded in grabbing it. He gave a hard pull, and Damian let the spear go, pulled out his long knife, and buried it in Dimitrious' gut.

Dimitrious still smiled, and Damian looked down to see a flowing mist where his knife's blade was. He slashed it upwards, but a line of mist flowed up Dimitrious' body. It preceded the knife and followed behind it, and no matter how many times Damian slashed his knife back and forth across his body, the mist was around it.

"See how feeble your attacks are, Damian? You cannot hope to even touch me."

With that he promptly burst into dozens of bats. They swarmed over Damian, who had to pull out his other knife and swing them around him in a frenzy. He could feel them all over him, cutting into his skin and taking just a little blood at a time. He could also feel his blades cut through them, though, so he knew that at one point they would have to give up. When they eventually did, though, and they flew a few feet away to form into a perfectly unharmed Dimitrious, even though many bats still lay dead at Damian's feet, Damian could feel blood running down almost all of his body.

Damian caught his breath, waiting for Dimitrious to make his move, but Dimitrious turned his back and walked away from him. He walked to the wall, placed his foot on it, and began to scale that as well. His hands were clasped behind his back, along with his wings, and he simply walked up the wall and then the domed ceiling. When he got to the zenith, he looked down with glee in his eyes.

"I told you Damian, without these powers, you are nothing. It is only with obedience and devotion to Lucifer that we can gain everything. What I've shown you today are only a fraction of the powers given to us. If you join him now, I will personally take it upon me to teach you everything I know."

Damian growled. Blood was flowing all over him, and he growled with pain and helplessness. He could feel that the wound in his neck had reopened, and he could not take it anymore. He felt rage flow over him and, regardless of the consequences, he began to change to his Other form.

"Yes!" Dimitrious shouted triumphantly and dropped to the ground. "Perfect."

Instantly, Damian felt an alien force enter his mind. It overwhelmed him with its power, and in one more second he blacked out.

One of the vampires walked up to Damian and placed his hand on his forehead. "What should we do with him?"

Dimitrious looked down at Damian and smiled. "Nothing, what needs to be done is already happening."

- 19 -


	18. Redemption

18

Redemption

Damian felt something soft under him. His hands closed over it, and it felt like grass. Not the grass that populated Darkovia, which was short, brown, and hard, but grass like the type that used to populate the hills where he lived as a boy. He felt the grass for a few more moments before wondering why it was under him and not the cold stone that was the floor of the large chamber he had been in with Dimitrious. Thinking of Dimitrious gave him a start, and he let go of the tuft of grass while sitting up and opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that he was near the edge of a cliff. Grass was all around him, and a large, beautiful, tree stood just next to the cliff. When he saw the tree, he noticed that something else was wrong, and one look up confirmed his fears. The sun was high in the sky, blazing down on him like a vengeful angel of death.

He flung up a hand and bolted for the shade of the tree, even while knowing that he would not make it in time, but he stopped halfway there and looked up again, then at his hands, which he dearly wished were gloved. He was not burning. His flesh was not bubbling before falling off of his bones as they turned into ash, as had the flesh of vampires he had seen in the glare of the sun. He looked up again, and marveled that its intense light did not blind him. He felt puzzled, first by his continued existence, and then also by how cold he felt. From his distant memories, he had remembered the sun being warm; so warm that it had caressed his skin and made him glad to be alive. He wondered how long it had been since he had seen the sun, and could not even remember. His memories of his old life had been getting faded lately. He still felt cold, like he had when he first felt all of his life flow out of him.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. No vampire was able to walk about in sunlight without death; not even the vampire named Lucifer was capable of that. Even disregarding that, how had he come here from inside that strange domed building? His clothes were still ragged from being bitten by all of the bats, but there was no blood on him or even stains on his clothes. After looking at his clothes, he knelt down and felt the grass again. It felt a little too smooth, and looked far too much like his memories. The shards of grass flowed in a gentle wind, and as they did he realized that they were exactly how he had remembered them. It was almost as if someone had constructed it from his mind.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't think you'd mind. Usually you guys find it relaxing to be near your fonder memories." A beautiful voice seemed to move around him, until finally stopping directly behind him. Damian turned around and saw a man standing in front of him. The man wore white, and had a fair complexion with blue eyes. His hair was black, which made his face appear even whiter, although it still did not look as white as a vampire's. He had no weapons, or even a belt or sheath. His sleeves were large, and he was not wearing any shoes. He held his hands with the palms out, and in all, was completely unthreatening.

Yet Damian felt threatened, and had no idea why. At that moment he realized that he did not have any weapons either. "Who are you?"

The man smiled, revealing white teeth, and started walking towards Damian. "What, you haven't guessed by now? It's me, the proverbial Prince of Darkness, the Roaring Lion, the… Well, I have other names, but those aren't quite as glamorous. I'm Lucifer. I'm the one who gave all free will, who created your entire race, and the one who will eventually destroy all races. I am evil incarnate, and yet I am compassionate to those who serve me. I do not want your soul, since almost all souls belong to me anyway. No, what I want is your devotion and obedience. In return, I can give you what you want. I'm not trying to trick you in any way, Damian. This is merely an exchange of abilities. I cannot exactly work in the corporal realm, and you are not strong enough to achieve what it is you really want. What do you say?" He stopped a few feet away from him.

Damian looked around. "So then this is a dream?"

Lucifer seemed a little annoyed at the evasion, but not overly much. "Yes, this is one of the few ways I can communicate with vampires, but I can only do it with a few of you. In fact, the ability to speak with me in this manner is one of the things that set you apart from the others, Damian. Very few can actually pull this off, so I usually have to communicate with them directly, and they usually die when that happens. This is actually rather refreshing, to tell you the truth. Regardless, what do you say, Damian?"

"You want my obedience, and in return you will give me what I want?"

"Yes. I just said that." Lucifer still smiled.

Damian stared at the man—or maybe he was not a man—in front of him. He tried to understand him, to understand himself, but his mind could little grasp either of them. "What makes you think that you know what it is I want?"

Lucifer laughed. It would have sounded like a sneer, save for the fact that it was  
Lucifer who laughed. "Please, Damian. I can understand what humans want even before they do, and I've been inside you ever since you became one of mine. You want revenge. You've wanted it ever since you saw your parents killed and your sister ravaged."

Somehow, the environment around them morphed and twisted until Damian and Lucifer stood in the middle of the field his father had plowed. Before them were Wulf and his brother, who was in his human form with Damian's sister under him. Wulf was in his werewolf form and still ripping away the flesh from his mother. His father was already lying in the field, his flesh missing chunks from where they had been bitten off. Lastly, he saw his own childish face, watching from afar, safe from all harms. Lucifer's smile widened when he beheld the scene.

"You see, Damian. You were too weak to save them then, were you not? And now you think that you have achieved vengeance, but you have not. What are those two save puppets of the werewolf race. It was all of them that did that to your family and inside you the desire for revenge still burns. I can give you that revenge. I can make you more powerful than any vampire or werewolf alive. In time, you will be stronger than even the first vampire, whom I allowed to bear my name."

Damian could not deny his feelings. He knew that he blamed all werewolves for what had happened to his family, and that he had stayed with the vampires even after swearing to his master that he would quit them once he had achieved his revenge. Now his master was dead, and Damian was still with the vampires. He had said to himself, over and over, that all werewolves must pay for what happened. But what about Bryce? Why had he let him live?

"What would I do, if I devoted myself to you and obeyed you?"

"Basically the same thing you've been doing all of this time, except now you'd finish your jobs, and you would not be a hypocrite. First you'd lead the vampire army to the destruction of the werewolves, and then, later on, you would send me countless souls."

"You mean you want me to kill innocent humans for you?"

Lucifer chuckled, then continued as if explaining something to a child. "My dear Damian, you've been killing innocent humans for years. I was there for most of it, and the rest I remember, just like you do. After your family was killed, you were forced to leave Darkovia and go to a major city, where you became a miscreant, an urchin. First you would steal food to stay alive, then you stole money, and then you were robbing people. By the time you were in your teens you were murdering. Remember the first woman you killed, Damian?"

Damian did remember, but it turned out that he had no reason to, since in seconds he was watching it again. She was walking home after having given him some money for a menial task. One look at her money purse had persuaded him to follow her, and when she passed an alleyway, he reached out, pulled her in, and put his hand over her mouth. She had tried to struggle, but he had a knife, and eventually she settled down. He took her money, but when he let his hand off of her mouth she screamed out.

He kept telling himself afterwards that it was a reflex, but regardless his knife shot out, and blood spat over him. She stared into his eyes with a look of sadness that he had never forgotten, and then she fell forwards, onto him. He staggered back, and then pushed her off of him. As she fell to the cobblestone ground, he fled into the night. He ran right through Damian, who turned and followed him with his eyes.

He turned back to see Lucifer beaming. "And that's not all. You were soon killing people all over the province. So much so that you were forced to flee from city to city." As he spoke, images of people Damian had murdered flashed around them. Many he remembered, but others he had no recollection of. "And that's not the best of it. Of course, it wasn't until you were in your early twenties, after you had joined a gang of some sort, that you aspired to your first rape. The funniest thing is that by now you thought you had forgotten about the werewolves, although in truth you were doing all of this to try to forget that you were doing nothing to avenge your family like you had said you would. But you never forgot, did you? Even when you tried to rape the barmaid." As if on cue, the scene changed to the bar, so long ago. It was one memory Damian had tried to forget, but one he never could. He had learned how to fight by then, and was considered the best in the gang. It was a privileged position, but also one that meant he had to be their champion against other gangs.

He and the leader of another gang were battling, and they circled each other with knives, since that was the custom. They both had cuts, but Damian's were on his arms, while his opponent's were on his torso. The other was breathing heavily, and his knife was shaking in his hand. Damian stopped and stood without a stance, with his knife by his side. He was daring the other to attack him, and both of them knew it. Finally, the other gave in and lunged forward in a desperate move that relied upon his speed, but it was futile. Damian easily stepped to the side and stabbed the man in his ribs.

The man fell to the ground, and never stood up. As the members of his gang congratulated him, the barmaid ran to the other man, crying as she turned him over. The members of the other gang slowly and discreetly found ways to exit the tavern. He was dead, obviously, and she kneeled over him, her tears hitting his tunic. Damian saw her, and for a moment his heart went out to her. He had just killed her lover. Then, however, the leader of his gang, a man whose brutality was the thing of legend, stepped up to Damian and put his hand on his shoulder. Damian looked at him and his leader swept his other hand towards the woman.

"To the victor go the spoils."

All of the others stopped their congratulations, and looked at Damian. They were silent for a moment before they started cheering. Damian later wanted to say that he was forced to do it, that he had been caught up in the moment, but he knew that excuses did not take away from the fact that he walked up to her, picked her up, and carried her, quite literally kicking and screaming, out the door into the street. He heard them cheer, but he did not notice the man who had been watching the entire exchange and slipped out the back door as soon as Damian exited the front.

The moon was too bright for anything in the open, so Damian walked into the alley at the side of the tavern and threw the woman to the ground. He was pleased to see that she was actually rather beautiful. She hit the ground, and tried to get away, but he grabbed her again and threw her against the wall. She was screaming, but nobody in this neighborhood would help her, and he had ripped open her shirt when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned around in time to be punched in the face. The strength was unlike anything he had ever felt, and he fell away from the woman, who ran away as soon as Damian left her. Damian stood and faced the person before him, who he could not quite make out. The man had no weapons, so Damian charged him without any. He punched out with his right hand in a straight line, like he had been taught, but the blow was turned aside by the stranger's left hand and his right came around to smash into Damian's ribs. He felt pain flare into him, but he fought past it, punching out with his left. The stranger did the same attack, and Damian felt as if he had been hit with a club.

Every move he tried was countered and a much more devastating one was returned with minimal effort, until eventually Damian fell to his knees and coughed up blood. He put his hand to his mouth, and the sight of his blood enraged him. He pulled out his sword and charged the stranger, but in a flash a spear was in the other's hand. His blade was turned aside. Then the butt of the spear slammed into his ribs again, but this time, instead of stopping, like he had done when fighting with bare fists, the man spun his spear around and cut a line into Damian's chest.

Red entered his vision, and Damian howled as he launched into a barrage of attacks, He threw everything he had ever been taught, all of the strongest, fastest, most technical attacks he had learned, along with many tricks, but anything he tried was turned away by the spear. The man seemed to have no trouble evading anything that came towards him, and eventually he seemed to tire of fighting and spun under an attack to slam the shaft of his spear into the back of Damian's legs, Then he spun back, slammed it into Damian's side, and finally spun one more time to slam it into Damian's head.

Damian would have fallen, but the man held him up and smashed him into the wall of the tavern. He looked Damian in the face, and for the first time Damian saw that he was elderly. "What is your name?"

"Doesn't really matter now, does it?" Damian said, blood pouring from his mouth.

"It does, but it will not in a few hours. Any last words, scum?"

Damian saw himself look down at the man and respond. "Just kill me quickly old man." He closed his eyes.

The old man slapped him in the face so that he opened his eyes again. "Not so fast, son. You have not paid for your crimes yet. I will make sure that you pay in full, though." Damian saw the man's red eyes and his canines as he bit him in the neck.

The scene shifted to when Damian awoke, now actually calling himself Damian, rather than his old name. The old man was sitting on a log, and they were now in the forest of Darkovia. A deer was lying near him, and he gestured for Damian to drink his fill. When it was over the old man had Damian sit across from him on a log.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Damian."

"What was your old name?"

Damian cocked his head. "My old name?"

"I see you forgot who you are. Well, I cannot let that go on. You have not paid for anything yet. Without knowing your old name, there is only one way to discover your old life." He reached over and transferred his memory of Damian's death back into his mind, and that acted as a catalyst. Instantly, the memories flooded through him, and he stared at the old man.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Preatias, but that is unimportant. I am a vampire, and so are you now. I must ask you, Damian, what is it you desire most in life?"

Damian did not hesitate. "Revenge."

"Against whom?"

"The werewolves who killed my family."

Preatias shook his head. "Well, that explains a lot, but it does not exempt you from anything. Very well, Damian, I am now your master, and I will teach you everything I know. In exchange, you must promise to do three things. One, you must fight those you wish to kill honorably."

"Which you didn't" Lucifer couldn't help but remark.

"Two, you must promise to leave vampire society once your revenge is carried out."

"Which you haven't." Lucifer sneered.

"And third, you must either find a way to redeem yourself for all that you have done or live the rest of your life free from carnal pleasures."

"Which you definitely haven't."

The next image was of a group of werewolves lounging about. Damian knew that one of them was Wulf's brother. They were speaking about something inconsequential, some sort of local politics, when suddenly a figure burst out of the bushes behind Wulf's brother. None of them saw him until he was too late, and Wulf's brother was dead before he knew why they were looking astonished. The others fought for their lives, but they were not premium warriors, and only one even had a weapon with him. They died swiftly, most before they could find something to fight with, and Damian took their hearts before running into the forest once again.

"Very honorable." Lucifer gloated.

"Shut up." Damian watched as other werewolves ran to the dead ones, some morphed into their human forms. They were women, mourning for their dead mates.

"But at least you became a fourth class that day, and almost got to third class."

"I'm done." Damian looked away.

"No you're not." The scene shifted to more recent moments, of Damian killing the bandits, mike, and the werewolves. He watched himself rip Wulf's limbs from him before taking his heart, then kill the two vampire slayers. "It's okay, they obviously weren't innocent." Then he was staring into Serenade's eyes and making her do his will, and then at the end of it all he watched himself brutally attack Darius, which had happened only minutes before. "Carnal pleasures indeed."

The scenes flashed before him, switching back and forth between scenes of his life and memories. Their paced increased, until he could barely see what was happening anymore, until finally they stopped, and he was back on the cliff with Lucifer, who grinned in exultation.

"You see, Damian? You cannot deny me. You've lived a life of sin, and now you think that you can throw that all away and pretend to be righteous? You are a hypocrite of the first order. Your master would be ashamed of you had he not been killed already. If I recall correctly, it was while you were away killing Wulf's brother, was it not? You knew that his health was deteriorating, but you left him anyway, even though he depended on you to defend him. You abandoned him for revenge, now isn't that rich? No, Damian, you cannot disobey me now after having obeyed me all of your life. You are mine, you have always been mine. You have always been," he chuckled "scum. Now get down on your knees and call me your master." He changed then, his face remained beautiful, but it seemed so much more dangerous. He looked like a ruler of a great nation, and his eyes brooked no disagreement.

Slowly, as if Lucifer's gaze alone forced him to his knees, Damian fell down. He looked up, and wanted nothing more than to deny everything that Lucifer said, but he knew it was all true. The weight of the lives he had ended seemed to weigh him down, forcing him onto his hands and knees.

"Say it." Lucifer's voice was filled with exultation, and his face was a mask of victory.

"Y-You are," Damian sputtered, before he felt a burning in his chest like he had never felt. He reached his hand to his neck and tugged on the chain frantically. It pulled taught from his neck, and the pain subsided, but then the silver cross on it fell out into the open. It burned his eyes to look at it, but when he did, memories came unbidden to him. Memories he had forgotten even before he had become a vampire. This was her cross, his sister's cross.

The scenery around him shifted. They were back in the field where his parents and sister had died, but this time Wulf and his brother had left and Damian saw himself running to his dead relatives. When he got there, he saw his sister with her hands clasped around her neck. She was naked and bleeding, but she was smiling. He ran to her and grabbed her, and her hands fell apart, revealing the silver cross in them. Words came unbidden to his mind from when she had been alive. He remembered her laughing and crying, but most of all he remembered her teaching him, especially what the cross meant. He had forgotten, but now it rang clearly in his mind.

"This is a symbol of redemption, little brother. It means that we don't have to save ourselves because we can't. If we want, we can be forgiven and redeemed, so don't hate, but forgive."

Lucifer looked around in disgust, and the scene changed back to the cliff. He looked down at Damian, who was looking at the cross. Damian said something.

"What was that?"

"I said thatyou are wrong. I do not want revenge, I want redemption!" Light burst from Damian, and it blinded him. He heard a scream, but did not know whose it was. All he felt was pain, as the light seared at him. As suddenly as the light came, though, it was gone, and so was Lucifer, and the cliff. He was back in the domed building, and Dimitrious was standing above him, his hand turned to metal and about to plunge down. Damian shot his hand up and caught his wrist, forcing the stab to the side, and then he reached into his shirt and grabbed the cross.

Pain, like he had never felt before, even in his most agonizing moments, shot through him, and he could feel his hand start to burn. He fought past the pain, though, and yanked the cross from its necklace. Dimitrious froze when he saw the cross, and Damian could tell that it was burning his eyes. He forced himself to not look at his hand, which felt like it was beginning to melt off, and only looked at Dimitrious as he shot up to his feet, pulled Dimitrious towards him with his grip on his wrist, opened his hand with the cross in it, and then slammed it into Dimitrious' forehead.

Damian thought that he had heard someone scream before, in fact, he had heard many people scream as they died in most hideous and pathetic ways, but when the cross connected with Dimitrious' forehead and flames shot out from it, a sound came from his throat the likes of which he had never heard. Dimitrious' scream shook the entire domed building, and many of the other vampires fell to the floor with their hands over their ears. It was all Damian could do to keep his grip on Dimitrious, despite the pain in his ears and the agony that permeated his entire body from his hand. He knew that he could not get out of here alive if he killed Dimitrious, though, so he leaned in close and yelled into Dimitrious' ear. Even though he yelled, it sounded like only a whisper to him.

"Send me out of here, old one, or I swear you will die here."

Even though no reply was made, in seconds Damian was no longer in the domed room. In fact, he was in his own room with all of his weapons scattered around him. Instantly he let go of the cross in his hand and fell to the floor, clutching his hand. He rolled about on the floor, smashed his hand into the ground several times, cursed and grunted, and yet the pain still would not go away. It felt like seven levels of Hell all converging on one spot of his body, and it was only getting more painful. Finally, the pain hit a crescendo, and, for the second time in as many minutes, he blacked out.

- 10 -


	19. Council of War

19

Council of War

Othniel stood over Sophitia, who was kneeling, and looked over her shoulder. In her hands she held a normal-looking human skull, and she was concentrating on it intently. He thought that she looked like a work of art in her pose, and could not suppress a snicker, which earned him a smack on the back of his head by Skull, who was also watching Sophitia work. Othniel turned around and eyed Skull, mouthing "Watch it, buddy," with his lips. Skull immediately set up a mind-link between the two of them.

"You have something to say?"

"Yea, bite me." Othniel replied while rubbing the back of his head.

"I thought that was your job, and while we're at it, be respectful when my sister is practicing her art."

The word "art" only made Othniel think about her contemplating the skull even more, and he could not help but chuckle once again.

Skull pulled back his staff and swung it at him again, but this time he was paying attention, so he ducked under it.

"Hah, missed me, punk."

"You're only good at dodging, pussy." Skull shot back with his thoughts.

Othniel's eye twitched, and he smiled for a half-second before he was on top of Skull and they were rolling around the ground, flailing at each other. Just when he got on top and had Skull's head in the crook of his arm and starting choking him, he felt a blunt object slam into the back of his head again. He let go of Skull and spun around while standing up, so that he was looking right at Sophitia.

"Shut up." She shot through their minds before turning back to her skull.

"Yes ma'am." They both replied, then looked at each other and squinted their eyes.

"You're whipped." Skull snorted.

"Look who's talking. At least it's not my sister."

They could have gone on for far longer, but at that moment, Sophitia stood with the skull in her hands, speaking slowly. Purple lines flowed at right angles across the skull, and she lifted it up into the air. Her arms stretched out, and when she said the final word, purple flames burned inside the skull's eyes, and when she brought her hands down, the skull stayed in the air. It stayed levitating for another moment before beginning to shake back and forth as the lines came off of its surface and formed a sphere around it. It began to shake even more violently for a few more seconds, and then it was simply gone.

Othniel walked up to Sophitia, who was shaking slightly. "Okay, so what was that for again?"

She did not turn to him. "You're an idiot."

"Yep." He smiled. "So what's that for again."

She sighed. "In the event that the vampires got the news of werewolves' lair from Vincent, they should be having a council of war soon. That skull is to wait in the council chamber until the time."

"Oh." Othniel still did not know what it was for, but he felt that Sophitia was on edge, so he did not belabor the point. Instead, he decided to switch topics. "Do you think that Vincent made it back?"

"Probably."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrow in an attempt to get her to explain her thoughts, but had to continue when she did not.

"What about Damian and Leon and Raphael?"

"I have no idea." He face was emotionless, as usual, and she stood looking at the moon. It just so happened to be that the vampire castle was in the direction of the moon as well. Looking at her there, with her face tilted up and her hands clasped in front of her, Othniel wanted nothing more than to walk up to her and wrap his arms around her. Even though her face was blank, he could see the moon in her eyes, and they reflected sadness. Despite himself, he began to take a step forward, but he stopped after he had placed his foot on the ground. It did not seem right. He was not the one who was supposed to be wrapping his arms around her at the moment. He desperately felt the need to embrace her, but he fought against it. He seemed to be straining against himself, even as he stood in his place.

Eventually, with an inaudible sigh, he turned and walked back to the camp the necromancers had set up for their first night on their journey to the vampire castle. He berated himself in his head, just loud enough that he did not hear Sophitia offer up her own almost-inaudible sigh as she looked back to the earth.

________________________________________________________________________

Damian was awakened by the sound of his door sliding open. He did not move, but he was reasonably sure that he could now. Footsteps slowly moved towards him over the stone floor, and he could hear whomever it was breathing. He lay silent and still until a hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder. Another hand grabbed him as well, and the intruder gave a small grunt as Damian rolled over. As soon as his back hit the floor, though, he shifted to his side, opened his eyes, grabbed the hands with his own and kicked the feet out from under the intruder. She fell to the ground and Damian shot one leg over her until he was sitting on her stomach. He had no weapon, so he shifted forward until his knees pinned her arms down, then reached down and placed his claw-like nails next to her neck.

About when she screamed out and started crying was when Damian realized that she was not here to kill him. A second look at her confirmed that she was a human, and a slave at that. He quickly got off of her and offered his hand to help her stand. Had she been thinking, she probably would have taken his hand, but she was flustered and frightened, so she scuttled away from him a bit before using his bed's frame to get to her feet.

They stared at each other for a few moments. He in slight amusement and she in cautious skepticism. Finally, when he felt that he had given her ample time to explain herself, Damian spoke.

"Why are you in my room?"

His words jarred her out of whatever it was she was stuck in, and she hurriedly bowed at the waist. When she came straight again, she replied. "I'm sorry, sir, but I was so startled that I forgot to tell you. You were recently promoted to a captain, and I'm your slave. They sent me down here to tell you that the council of war will be starting soon, and that your presence is requested." She was trembling again by the end of her speech; probably thought that he was going to bite her right then.

'Humans,' he thought to himself. He had never wanted a slave, and had honestly never thought about what he would do if he was ever given one. The thought of ever becoming a captain had never occurred to him. 'Wait, what?!' He jerked his head back up, causing her to emit a sort of high shriek.

"What was that?" He asked, his eyes focused on her.

"U-um…" she stuttered. "Your presence is required at the council of war since it's about to—."

"No, before that."

"Oh," she seemed relieved to still be alive. "Well, you've been promoted to a captain, so you're in the council of war now, and I'm your slave."

He looked above her and unfocused his eyes. Mulling over her words inside his head. A captain, him. Only in his most ambitious thoughts had he ever even contemplated attaining such a high rank. This meant that he was truly now one of the elite in vampire society. The day before he was simply another vampire. He was a first class, of course, which meant that he was higher than most, but that was nothing compared to what he was now.

'I am a captain.' The thought slowly formed inside him, and with it came a mix of emotions. The first was elation, although for what he knew not. The second that came was much less savory, as he thought about his promise to Preatias. He had said that he would leave the vampires once his revenge was over, and now he was not only still with them, but was going to command them as well. He wanted to think on that one more, and to decide what he would do about this hypocrisy, but then a third thought hit him, even less pleasant than the first two. 'What if this was caused by Lucifer?"

That last thought rocked him back, as he wondered whether Lucifer was still favoring him or if he was out of its good graces. The time to think about all of this was later, however, for now, he was required to be at the council of war. He took a step forward, but when his foot landed he realized just how weak he was at the moment. Adrenaline had overridden his senses when he had attacked the woman, and since then he had only stood, but as his leg buckled under him, he stumbled and fell to the ground.

He hit it with a dull thud, and could not even muster the strength to move. The woman quickly turned him over, though, and as she stared into his face, he looked at her as well. "You would not happen to have any blood on you, would you?"

________________________________________________________________________

A few minutes later, after his new slave had fetched him some blood and also helped him dress suitably for the occasion, a still shaky Damian was walking his way towards the council chambers. He realized that he was very undernourished at the moment. It was customary to drink everything out of a victim, and he had not had a full meal since before he was captured. He resolved that he would have to go hunting or buy an animal from the market soon so that he could replenish his strength. After all, he was no good to anybody in this state, and he would not be able to fight off anything with his still-aching wounds, which was not even counting his throbbing hand.

His slave, he would have to learn her name the next time he met her, had recommended gloves, and he had gladly taken them. However covered his hand was, though, it still felt like a burning rod was slowly being dug into it. The pain was nothing compared to how it had been the night before, however, so he decided to simply bear it until it went away. That is, if it went away.

Even so, he walked towards the council chamber with a feeling he had never felt before. For once in either of his lives, he felt important. It was as if he finally mattered, and the feeling was very new to him. He wondered if it was a good feeling.

When he reached the castle, he was admitted, and then escorted through the lushly decorated halls until he and his escort came to the door of the chamber. It was already opened, and Damian's escort turned back as he walked through the large doorways. Most of the council members were already present, and when he entered, barely any of them took notice. He knew that each and every member in the room had seen him and had catalogued his presence, but none of them recognized his existence. This comforted him, since he knew that far too much attention had been paid to him recently. It made him feel normal again.

Even having only been in the council chamber once or twice, Damian knew where he was meant to go. All of the seats in the council chamber were arranged to follow the sphere of the room, with seats farther away being higher in elevation. All of the seats stopped halfway through the circular chamber, however, since none were allowed to be considered on the same side as the Matriarch and Patriarch. The councilors sat in the chairs that curved with the room, but on the ground floor, laid out in a perfect line, were the chairs meant for the captains. Damian did not know which unit he was to be the captain of, but he figured that, since he was almost late, he would choose the one that was not occupied.

Unfortunately, when he looked for the seats, he saw that three were vacant even though the other captains were seated. This meant that three new squads had been added recently. He wondered who the two other captains would be. Thankfully, there was a gap between the sixth captain and the eighth, so he assumed that he was the seventh captain. Not wanting to sit in the wrong chair, though, he walked up to the eighth captain, bowed at the waist, and asked which seat was his. The eighth captain looked up, and Damian recognized her. She was Valdivai, the former captain of the seventh squad, and the one said to be the best in terms of leading troops, whether in battle or drills. Her fighting style, which Damian himself had witnessed, involved two short sticks with metal balls at their ends. Spikes protruded from the metal balls and curved out to make them look like a longer version of the back of a battle hammer or a kama. Rumor had it that she was also quite sadistic, but Damian had never found out if they were true.

She smiled slightly and motioned to the seat on her right; the seventh seat.

"You're the new captain of the seventh unit. The new eighth, ninth, and tenth units have been recently formed, so they require seasoned captains to guide them and whip them into shape." Damian could only imagine what she would do to the new eighth unit, and did not envy them their lot. She continued. "I hope that you find the seventh unit to your liking. I have spent quite awhile shaping them into a unit that will never run, disobey, or die without first killing. I'm counting on you to keep them at the level I have slaved to get them to, can I trust you?"

"I will do my best." Damian bowed again before walking around the table in front of the seats and taking his own place.

Soon after he was seated, and to his great relief, the Matriarch and Patriarch entered the chamber. At their arrival, all conversations ceased, and all of the members stood as they walked to their raised seats at the front of the room. They stood in front of their seats, and then Vladimir waved his hand. All of the council members sat, and the Patriarch and Matriarch seated themselves soon after. Vladimir wasted no time in beginning the council of war.

"Fellow council members, and also the captains," he inclined his head to the captains, who nodded back. "War is upon us. We have discovered the werewolves' lair, and as a result we must act as soon as possible. A decision was made to battle the werewolves on open ground, and we have done all that is within our power to prepare for this event. Now, commander Darius, report."

Darius, who, Damian noted, looked like nothing had ever happened to him, stood from his chair on the curved seats. He was the commander of the vampire army, but he was also a part of the council, and was no longer a captain of his own unit, so he chose to sit with the councilors, albeit he was given a seat in the front row. He looked around the chamber before beginning his report.

"Patriarch, Matriarch, honored members of the council, we have eight completed units right now, and two more will be completed by the time the war is upon us. Ten captains, all of ability and clarity of mind, have been chosen to lead them. In short, we have one thousand trained warriors waiting for your command. Also, we have many militia who have expressed their desire to join in our battle, about five hundred or so. In addition to that, we have fifty spell casters and fifteen major spell casters who are ready to give their all for you." He sat down with a satisfied look on his face, and Damian had to admit that he had done his job well.

"Good," Vladimir seemed satisfied with the progress as well. "And now, a special report from Dimitrious."

Dimitrious stood, and Damian noticed that he was wearing one of the scouting hats on his head, which, while looking completely out of place on him, did manage to completely conceal his forehead. Damian almost laughed, and was glad that at least some wounds would not be removed by blood. He did wonder just how long the scars would last, though.

"Patriarch, Matriarch, council members; I have been communing with a very close ally, and I believe that he can aid us significantly in our struggles. One of his generals is here to speak for him. Come, Stragath."

As soon as he spoke the name, the air in the middle of the council chamber began to twist and ripple, before finally breaking in half as a clawed hand reached out and grabbed a side of it as if it were tangible. The hand flexed, and, eventually, a demon forced its way out of the hole, which slammed shut behind him. The demon looked almost exactly like the vampire's Other form, save that it was red rather than black, lacked wings, and had large spikes protruding from every imaginable space. Large spikes went down its spine, with one at each of its vertebrae, they came out of its shoulders, out of its elbows and knees, its fingers, toes, its tail, and even one from each of its wrists, which stuck out just beyond its fingertips. It stood for a moment, looked around, and then bowed deeply to the council.

"Ah Stragath," Vladimir's voice was warm. "How many troops can we expect your master to send to our aid in the battle."

When the demon spoke, its voice was at once very clear and yet very distorted. "My master is not entirely certain, but we know that we can at least match your own contribution to the war. Most warriors will be of a lower class than myself, however, and I am sure that they do not measure up to your own people's standards, but I think that you will find their service satisfactory."

"Excellent."

It was at that moment that a dark purple flashed in the side of the council chamber. Almost instantly, Damian and all of the other captains had pulled out their weapons and were away from their seats, but all of them relaxed a bit when they saw only a floating skull in their midst. The skull slowly turned around, examining the room, before lowering down and floating to the middle of the room. When it faced Vladimir and Safiria, it nodded in a strange attempt at a bow. Then a very familiar voice echoed from its unmoving jaw.

"Honorable brethren, I am Sophitia, a third class vampire from Damian's squad. Myself and one other vampire survived, but were not able to reach the vampire castle as our comrade Vincent was able to. Instead, we traveled to the necromancers, of whom I was once a member, and convinced them to join us in our war. They consented on the condition that we agree to a treaty of peace with them. We are about half the distance between our castle and their land. I would now like to ask if you would agree to their terms. Also, before you answer, I would like to say that, in my limited experience with the werewolves, I found that they must number at least four thousand, and it is likely that they have more."

Vladimir seemed to hesitate, as if he were weighing his actions carefully. Then, with reluctance, he leaned over to Safiria and whispered into her ear. Any secrecy he might have hoped for was lost when she nodded emphatically. He sighed and turned back. "Thank you for your assistance, Sophitia. We have decided that we will make and honor a treaty of peace with the necromancers if they aid us to the best of their ability in our upcoming war."

Damian, having listened to all of this, felt a strange sensation in his feet. It slowly worked its way up his body, spreading to his arms and fingers, and finally running up his neck. He felt the hairs on it stand up, and when the feeling hit his head, he knew just what it was as he voiced it in a whisper. "They're alive." He had known that at least one of them survived, but he had not known if more had, or even which one had survived, and now he knew that over half of his squad had lived through their disastrous mission. He could not help but smile, and he had the insane desire to laugh at fate, at chance, and at all of the things that had told him his companions were dead and that he had caused their death. He still thought of Leon, Raphael, and Lidian, and knew that they were dead because of him, but now he could weigh that against having saved his other friends.

He began to whisper "Thank you," but stopped, when he realized that he had no idea whom he was thanking. He was once again forced to wonder if Lucifer had caused them to live, or whether it had happened from his judgement, or chance. Then a thought struck him; maybe it was none of these, but something different than all three. If Lucifer existed then—

A loud shriek pierced through Damian's ears, and he thrust his hands to the side of his head in a futile effort to lessen the glass-shattering noise. As soon as it began, the noise stopped, and Damian opened his eyes without realizing that he had ever closed them. In the center of the chamber, near where Sophitia's skull still floated, a large bat was crouched on the floor. It was larger than most bats Damian had seen, but only marginally so, and Damian was puzzling over how it could have made the noise it did when a wave of gasps flowed across the chamber. Immediately, the other captains leaped to circle the raised floor, and Damian dutifully followed.

When it was surrounded, the bat turned and started at Damian, making a strange chill flow over him. He had always known that bats were intelligent, at least far as animals go, but looking into the dark eyes of that bat, he felt that it had more knowledge and understanding than even he did. It stared at him for one more moment, before turning to Vladimir and placing its face to the stone at its feet.

Once it was crouched over, its back shot out, expanding in an instant as if it were a balloon. It was hunched over, and its mouth was open in silent pain as the expansion hit its legs and arms. All four of its limbs rippled with muscles as they became humanoid in structure, and its wings were even larger than a vampire's Other form wings, but they were attached to its arms. It stood, flexing all of the muscles across its body as if unused to them. When it stood to its feet, only its head was still its normal size, and it looked highly comical, but then its head reared up and the expansion began with its neck, which bloated, and then finally spread out until it was comfortably sized with the rest of its body.

When it was fully formed, the bat was a truly magnificent being to behold. It could not have been more than eight feet tall, but Damian had no doubt that it could easily kill him. Its ears were especially large, taking over almost all of the sides of its face, and its wings folded until they barely appeared to be with it when its arms were by its side, as they were now. After it was finished, it stayed silent for just a few seconds more, then lifted its bestial head to Vladimir, who was staring down at it in confusion, as if he did not know whether to defend himself or welcome the creature. Then it spoke.

"Hello again, Vladimir."

At the mention of his name, Vladimir visibly relaxed, and took his hand off of the sword by his side. He forced out a smile. "Hello N'colto." His voice stumbled over the foreign enunciation of the name. "It has been quite awhile since we last met."

"It may have been, in your years, but in ours it seems like only yesterday. My wife's murder still weighs heavily in my mind." At those words, all of the captains tensed and Vladimir subtly placed his hand back on the hilt of his sword. Seeing this, N'colto laughed, "But that is not why I am here. My people have been watching the werewolves for years, and what your scout says is true, the werewolves have thousands of warriors, and they also have many first class warriors. In addition, the werewolf King has enlisted the help of the Razorclaws and the Lycanthropes in this battle."

If the news disturbed Vladimir, he did not show it. "And your point is."

N'colto ticked his head to the side swiftly. "My point is that you will be greatly outnumbered in every way by a foe that, besides in intellect, is superior to you, and you need all of the help you can receive. I am here to pledge the service of myself and my people in battle with you."

"But why do this now? We have always hunted you and your kind?" Vladimir seemed to be leading somewhere with his question, rather than being truly curious.

N'colto crossed his large hands behind his back. "That is true, but the werewolves have been no kinder to us than you have, and in this battle we have the chance to eliminate one of our two main hunters. They are more beasts than men, and may conveniently forget any truce made with them. Your people have always had control of your senses, and even called a halt to our genocide when you thought that we might become extinct. For this reason we wish to ally ourselves with you and create a pact."

"Ah," Vladimir nodded knowingly. "So you do wish for a treaty to made with your people."

"Of course." N'colto never let any sign of distress show in his face.

"Then what are your terms?"

N'colto sighed before speaking. "We want to be considered allies of your people, and to have our hunting stopped for as long as we are allies."

Damian knew what that meant. It meant that N'colto and his people would only be protected for as long as they were considered useful, which would probably only be until the war was finished. The terms were perfect for Vladimir, too perfect for him to refuse.

"Very well, N'colto. I agree with your terms. How many Chiroptera will you send you the field?"

There was a pause. "Fifty."

"So few?" Vladimir looked amused. "For the boon that I am granting you, could you not at least make a token effort to help in this war?"

"A token effort." Behind his back, his fists clenched. "I am sending every remaining member of my race to battle for you, and you call it less than a token effort? Fifty is all that we have left, males and females. You have both hunted us to death. Although, I'm sure that you will find our numbers sufficient. You must remember how it almost always takes a squad of your first class rabble to take down one of our own, and how it is one of your orders to flee immediately if two of us are together."

"This is true." Vladimir said it without any hint of grudge, which made Damian think that this Chiroptera must be more powerful than he had imagined. "Your aid is appreciated, and we will hold on to our end of the bargain. I look forward to seeing how powerful you and your people are in a field of battle.

"Now, unless any other unexpected allies decide to come and pledge their aid, I will call this meeting to an end. We all have many tasks at hand, so let us not waste any time. Be about your tasks."

Damian and all of the other captains sheathed their weapons, and all of the council members stood to leave, while Vladimir motioned for the flying skull to follow him as he turned to leave as well. Damian had never noticed until now, but when he saw all of the captains together, with their weapons drawn, they seemed like the strangest group of individuals he had ever seen. None of them looked identical, with one having shaved his head, two others with dyed hair, one with a large amount of piercings, and the few others with distinguishing hairstyles. Even their dress looked strange to him. What all of them wore was based on the traditional wear that all vampires wore, but each was changed in some way. One of the women had changed hers to have a long skirt, and the other had cut hers into shorts and a small shirt. The men had made various changes to their appropriate wear, with some adding on extra, like a cloak, pockets, chains, or even a full jacket, and others cutting parts off.

Even stranger than their appearance and choice of clothing, though, were their weapons. Damian's choice of a spear was the tamest out of them. Like he had noticed before, Valdivai had her strange kama-warhammer weapons, but even those looked normal to some of the weapons drawn when N'Colto had entered the room. The other female carried a long whip that had a normal-sized blade at the end of it. When the standoff was over she swiftly whipped it back and it neatly curled over and under her arm, with the blade falling neatly over her shoulder and lying across her back.

The males' weapons seemed to mostly be centered on the design of a sword, with the notable exception of the one who had a large, thick, curved stick in his hands with only one metal spike at the crook of it, which looked too large for him, and the other who had only held a small stick about six inches long and one inch in diameter with small spikes at the ends in one of his hands, but each sword was tweaked in a strange manner. One looked like he had three swords forged together into something like a screw, which he promptly sheathed into the side of his body when the battle was over, and another had one sword that had a base of longsword, but all through the length of it, about a dozen other blades or varying width, length, even shape had been grafted into it perpendicularly. All of their blades were made of Wulfsbane.

The last one, who seemed to have the most normal-looking weapon, had a sword that went straight half of the way to the top, like any normal sword, but then stuck forward and curved sharply like a scimitar so that, even though it was curved, the tip was directly above the hilt. Damian wondered what good having a sword shaped like that would do, but he felt it best not to ask.

He soon had to do far more than merely observe them, however, for they were all walking towards him. When the reached him, they circled around him, and began talking to each other as if he were not there.

"This is Damian, huh?"

"I thought he'd look different."

"I wonder if he really turned Other before becoming a first class…"

"He looks disturbingly normal."

"Well, at least he's not fighting with a sword. A spear's kind of original."

When it seemed that they had satisfied their curiosity over him, Valdivai stepped forward and faced Damian, A smile lit up her face, and her straight red hair tilted as she shifted to extend her hand towards him. She spoke as they shook hands.

"Greetings Damian. I am Valdivai, captain of the eighth squad, and I would like to welcome you to the ranks of the captains. Everyone, introduce yourselves." Damian found that she was not asking them in any sense of the word.

The male to her right, who had countless piercings and a screw-sword stuck into his side, stepped forward first. He had added many chains onto his uniform, which clanked with every movement he made. He cocked his head to the side and back first, but then he extended his hand. "Julius, third unit captain, and you're Damian, don't be weak or I'll kill you myself." When Damian clasped hands with him, he felt a great amount of pressure and had to give as much back to keep his hand from breaking. He hoped that this would not be a trend.

The next person on the right, the one with shock-white hair, spectacles, a long robe for a uniform, and also the one who had wielded the small stick, stepped forward next and bowed deeply. "My name is Ezekiel. I am the fifth unit's captain, as well as the impromptu leader of Arts Magickal in our society. I'm sure that we will be able to cooperate fully in the future, and I wish you long life." He did not offer his hand, so Damian bowed as well. He wondered what the small stick was, though, so he decided to ask.

"Is that small staff you carry magical then?"

Without any discernable movement, the stick was in his hand, and he twirled it playfully. "Oh, it has some magical abilities that I've put into it, but that's not its main purpose. I can assure you that it is a purely combative weapon I've invented. Maybe I'll get the chance to show you some time." Then, with just as little movement, the stick was gone.

Next was the other female, who had dark, short hair, and who had cut her uniform until it was a small vest and shorts. Her bladed whip still hung around her body, and what was bared by her minimal clothing showed her to be a well-muscled but still petite woman. She almost seemed to smile as she stepped forward and let her hand leave her side to stay suspended in the air before being met by his. "I am Diana, captain of the sixth squad, and I would like to add that I've heard a lot about you. I'll be looking forward to seeing you in battle Damian."

"And I you." He did not mention that he thought a bladed whip would look ridiculous on anyone save a vampire, and even many of them would still look like fools, but it seemed to fit her more than he could ever truly express.

Next was the male who had the strange sword that had many blades sticking out from it, although at the moment it was not visible. He had many pockets stitched into his uniform, and most seemed to be comfortably filled. His hair was dyed bright orange with streaks of blue highlighted into it, and the only remaining evidence of his strange sword was in the shape of his hilt and guard on the outside of a small sheath. Damian noticed that it was like his own sheaths, but still wondered how he was able to fit his large, ungainly sword into such a normal-sized sheath. While he was at it, he noticed that the grip on the hilt was studded, rather than being smooth. He did not smile when he stood forward, but he did not seem unfriendly.

"I'm Bilal, and I'm the captain of the fourth unit." He did not offer his hand, or bow, so in return Damian introduced himself and nodded.

The circle came fully around with the last captain, who had the too-large and strangly-shaped stick with the spike in its crook strapped to his back. His head was shaved, his shirt was sleeveless, and his pants had been cut off at the knees. These all served to simply accentuate his enormous figure. Muscles rippled from inside and outside of his clothes, and he stood at least two feet taller than Damian. When he stepped forward, he grinned very wide.

"I'm Samael, and I'm the second units' captain. I like being in my Other form more than this one, which is why I had my scythe here resized to that scale." Damian did not think that it looked like a scythe. "I just love ripping, well, just about anything, apart. We should spar sometime, so that I can see if you're strong or not. Doesn't that sound like fun?" He stuck out his large hand, still grinning, and Damian placed his own in it.

"Yes, that does seem like it would be entertaining." After he said that, Damian found that Samael's grip had become like a vice on his own hand, and then he was being pulled forward and upwards into a bear-like hug that crushed the wind out of him.

"Really? You mean it?" Samael sounded ecstatic.

"Y-Yes," was all Damian could gasp out.

He was released, and fell two feet or so before his feet hit the floor again.

"I hope you did mean it, Damian, no one's ever agreed to spar with me for a long time, ever since I accidentally killed that one guy." The fact that it was accidental did little to put Damian at ease.

With introductions completed, the captains quickly dispersed, but only after they had all left did he notice that one of them had been missing. The captain who had carried the sword-scimitar hybrid, and who had seemed fairly normal. He had been there before, but was not among them when they went towards him or circled him, and he was forced to wonder where he had gone. A quick count in his head said that the other captain was the captain of the first unit, since all others had been accounted for.

He was about to follow their example and retire back to his room, but then he noticed that N'colto had not moved from where he had been standing when the council ended, and that he was staring at him. Damian returned his gaze with curiosity, which was only strengthened by N'colto walking to him and addressing him.

"You are Damian, are you not?" Her looked down at Damian with his red eyes.

"I am." Damian stared up at him.

"Then I wish to speak with you privately."

Damian did not like the sound of those words, but the tone was unthreatening, and he had no reason to expect that N'colto would jeopardize his newly formed treaty just to kill him, whom he had never met before. "Alright, we have rooms here that are sealed with spells so that no sound enters from the outside or escapes from within. If you will follow me, I will lead you to one."

N'colto grunted his approval, and so they walked out of the chamber, through hallways, corridors, and a few rooms before they came to the door that Damian was looking for. He opened the door and beckoned for N'colto to walk in. He followed after him and closed the door after him. He heard no sound as the bolt fell into place, which reassured him. There was a table and two chairs, to which Damian beckoned N'colto while taking one of them himself. N'colto tried to sit on the chair, but found it was too small for him to comfortably sit on, so he tossed it to the side, dragged the table to where he was, and sat on it instead. His feet dangled in the air over the ground, and, if it was at all possible for him to look anything but powerful, he would have looked a little cute at the moment.

"You are sure no one will hear us." N'colto spoke in a whisper and looked around cautiously.

"Quite." Damian spoke at a normal volume to be reassuring.

"Very well, how much do you know of my people, Damian?"

Damian thought. "Barely anything. I do not even truly know what your people are, in truth."

N'colto looked disproportionately pleased with his answer. "Well, suffice to say that we are the Chiroptera. We are considered to be cousins of you vampires, but we have been around for far longer than your race. In fact, our race has survived for so long that we do not know how or why we became so. The only thing we all accept as fact, for some reason, is that we were all normal bats at one time. Anyway, we were content to live out our lives in this forest, but then came the humans, who were not bad, as far as your races go, but they began the problems for us. You see, it was not long before Lucifer came to our forest and decided to create the vampires. At that time, we usually kept in our bat forms, so few knew about us, but some did know us. Even with the vampires, though, it was fine, at least then.

"Unfortunately, that fool of a vampire Lucifer had to steal the princess and eventually cause the werewolves to be created. The werewolves of that time had no rational thoughts, but they were ferocious, and they could somehow tell what we were even when we were in our bat forms. Because of them, we allied ourselves with the vampires and fought with and for them. We were fighting a losing battle, but at least it was better than fighting separately. It was around then, though, that true misfortune struck my people. Vampires began to eat the hearts of those of us who died fighting alongside them, as is your perverted tradition, and when they did, they instantly obtained their Other form, no matter how powerful they were.

"News of their new power flooded through their country, and so they began to turn on us, even as they tried to fight off the hordes of werewolves that eventually ran them over. Even though we fought together, and even though we are more powerful than most of your Other forms, they still hunted us in order to be stronger than ever before. The vampire Lucifer himself hunted down my brother, defeated him in single combat, and drank him before eating his heart. Eventually, our numbers were so drastically reduced that we were forced to flee from the battle altogether.

"Still, it was having their Other form that allowed them to defeat the werewolves. All vampires in the final battle between the two races were in their Other form, except for Safiria, that is. They won, of course, and you know the rest from there. They have constantly hunted us since then, sometimes with disturbing success, and other times with less so. We could defeat them, though, even in their Other form we can usually defeat them, but they came in squads, sometimes in two or three at a time. There have only been three times when a vampire without the Other form has killed a Chiroptera in single combat, those were Lucifer, another elder, and Vladimir, who hunted down and killed my wife. They slowly cut our numbers down, then backed off to let us grow more, then hunted us again.

"The werewolves, when they regained their sanity and discovered how the vampires achieved their Other form, at first tried to do the same, but their anatomies were completely different from each other, so werewolves only gained strength from our deaths, and not a total explosion of power. As a result, they decided to kill as many of us as they could, so that the vampires would have fewer powerful vampires amongst them. They tried to destroy us completely, and at one time they almost did.

And so we constantly flee from both races, one of which call us Werebats to try to distance themselves from us and another who call us Vampire Bats for the same reason, trying to form a society while at the same time trying to simply not become extinct. We have been forced to eat the flesh of humans, scavenge food from greater beasts' kills, and now ally ourselves once more with the very power that hunted, and still hunts, us."

When it was clear that he was done. Damian took a moment and thought about everything he had just heard. He had never heard of Chiroptera, although all of the other council members seemed to know about them. He had always assumed that one gained the Other form once one became a first class vampire, and that Preatias had the ability too, but never chose to use it. It made sense to him, though, that they would keep the information a secret from all of those under a first class' power save for those who went on hunts. It would not do to have random hunts of weak vampires being formed. Refocusing his attention to N'colto, he wondered out loud.

"That is truly a sad story, and I am glad that your people are now protected, but what does all of this have to do with me?"

N'colto locked his arms on the top of the table, leaned forward, and even swung his legs back and forth like a child. "Don't you see? You are the first vampire who has claimed the ability to turn into your Other form without slaying one of our people. If you can somehow teach this to other vampires, there will be no reason to kill us. We could live in relative harmony, and none of us would have to die needlessly. You could, in fact, save our race. In truth, we are not safe from death right now, as I'm sure you're aware. The treaty with Vladimir is purposefully in his favor, and will be of no effect once the war is over, but we had to do it so that we could meet you. Please Damian, say that you will do everything in your power to save my people." His face was a mixture of happiness, longing, and trepidation.

Damian took another breath, let it out, looked around the room for no reason, and then looked back at the man-bat before him. He could not tell N'colto, who looked like Damian was his last hope, that he suspected the only reason he achieved it before any of the normal parameters was that he was favored by Lucifer. He wanted to, but he simply could not. "I will do everything in my power to help save your people."

N'colto's smile cannot be described with words.

________________________________________________________________________

Serenade at first had no idea where she should take the information Bryce had procured for her. She knew that she should either go to the vampire slayers or the Paladins, but she knew not which one would be best served with the information. Finally, she had decided to visit the vampire slayers, since they were closest and could best respond to the problem at hand. Luckily for her, the two sects were very similar in their aims, and as such had grown very close in their years of existence. The paladins had existed for far longer than the vampire slayers, but they were admittedly best at slaying the undead, while superior beings like vampires and werewolves were harder for them.

And so, after some deliberation, she had decided to go to the vampire hunters and hope that they would believe her based solely on her affiliation.

Stone Wolf, for his part, was somewhat happy to see her leave. When she came from his mouth, he smiled. It was a strange thing to see a completely stone being smile, its teeth bared as rock lips bent upwards in a grin.

"Ah, the freedom of youth. I wish I was as fortunate, or as free, as you are now Serenade. Good luck on your journey."

"Thank you." Serenade had smiled back. "And I promise that, if we win this war, we will come back to release you."

Something of a sigh had emanated from his throat. "Promises, promises, now you'd best get away from here now, before anyone gets suspicious."

All that was past her, now, as was the spell taught to her, before she had left to return to her home, by the paladins. They had made sure to give her a few good pieces of advice in what to do if she were alone in the forest, and the most relevant of those involved teaching her a spell that would instantly transport her to the vampire slayers if she ever needed protection. So, she had not been as helpless as she had claimed when making Bryce take her with him, but she regretted nothing.

All of those experiences led her to where she was now, and that was approaching the vampire slayers' castle. She had been told that the spell would send her to the castle, but it turned out that it actually sent her to a large flat stone that was in sight of the castle. Still, she was very close to the castle, and was at that moment wondering what would happen if the vampires or werewolves discovered the warp point, when two crossbows were pointed at the sides of her head and a sharp point was placed on her back. From behind her, a voice spoke softly.

"A dark night. Too dark for humans to be out."

She did not try to look behind her, but replied. "The dark of night must always give way to the light of day."

"And what makes this happen?" The speaker had very little inflections in his voice. It was almost monotone.

"It is natural, but if the night refuses nature, then it is necessary to use force."

The crossbows were lowered, and the blade removed from her back so that she could turn around. Her aggressors all looked marginally identical, with their large brown hats and cloaks like Bryce and Dejan had worn, but they each had little things that made them unique, as all do. The one in front of her sheathed his sword and kept his face placid as he apologized.

"Forgive us, paladin, but times are perilous, and precautions must be taken. One never knows what is coming."

Serenade smiled just a bit. "A paladin always knows what is coming."

Now the vampire slayer smiled back at her, and tipped his hat in a bow. "Well done, you are indeed a paladin. But tell me, who are you, and what are you doing so far from your home?"

"My name is Serenade, and I have been living with the werewolves for longer than I care to recall. I have come here to give E some very important news from Bryce."

"Bryce?" The vampire slayer looked astonished. "He's still alive? We all thought he was dead. What happened to him?"

"My information is important enough to change this entire forest, so could I please be admitted to E?"

He calmed down immediately, and he swiftly nodded to the other two next to her. "Take her to E."

________________________________________________________________________

E sat in the chair, with his feet on top of the desk next to him, when Serenade entered the room. He wore the same dress as all of the others, but his seemed so much more personal, while most of theirs looked like uniforms. He was a handsome enough man, she noticed, although nothing compared to an elf like Bryce. What struck her, though, was that he looked like he was in his early thirties instead of more than one hundred years old, like she had heard he was. She had heard that he was older than he looked, and rumors of it were many, but they did not do him justice. Some said that his unnaturally long life and vitality were due to a gift from God, while other claimed that it was due to his heritage, and some even claimed that he was half-vampire, although those never did so to his face.

It was also said that, even though he rarely went hunting for the undead personally any more, he could still best any of his men in single combat with ease, and that he could also defeat any single undead in the woods, save, perhaps, their leaders.

All put together, along with his Sword of Office, which no one she had ever spoken with knew what it did, made for an intimidating sight. She could not help but feel small in his presence, but he smiled warmly at her.

"Hello… Serenade was it? Such a unique name, that one. They tell me that you have been with Bryce for all of the time he has been away from us. I would first like to thank you, and then I would ask you to relate those times to me."

She shook her head adamantly. "Thank you sir, but Bryce sent me here on a very important mission. I have vital information, which must be acted on immediately. The vampires have discovered the werewolves' lair, and so the werewolves have decided to wage an all-out war with the vampires. Bryce believes that the vampires also have the same view in mind, and that both of them will meet in one final battle very soon."

E leaned back in his chair, taking his feet off of the desk and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. At length he looked up again. "Thank you Serenade. We knew something about this, but not to the extent you are reporting. This could truly be vital."

Serenade cocked her head to the side. "You knew, sir?"

He smiled. "Yes, you see, long ago, when both races lived in peace, they had fountains built at their capitols, which allowed them to converse with each other over long distances. You learned about this, right?"

"Yes sir, but now that they are enemies, aren't they not using them any more?"

"Close. Long ago, we discovered how to intercept messages between the two fountains using one of our own design and since then we have always had at least one of our men monitoring the fountain in case they speak to one another."

Serenade was still confused. "But who would be communicating?"

"At first, there was a large amount between the two, but once they began to fight once more they cut off communication altogether. That is, until very recently, when a male vampire and a female werewolf began to converse at length between the two sides. Well, that's not completely true. Through their conversations, we've been able to quite accurately deduce that they are both Werepyres disguised as them. We've also been able to discover that they have been pulling the strings of both races in an attempt to exterminate both of them ever since their race's supposed 'extermination.'"

"But how could that be possible? Wasn't the werewolf queen able to sense the presence of Werepyres?"

E sighed. "Yes, but apparently only when they are in their Werepyre forms. No one knew that they could change their shape until now, and I'm sure that none of them suspected it. It seems they must have changed their shape, infiltrated both armies, and then killed the queen. Her death freed them to continue to build their forces in their original forms, and so they have been growing in strength and numbers since then."

It all seemed so unreal to her. "So you think that they are the ones who're provoking the war?"

"Exactly," he snapped his fingers. "Their goal is to weaken both sides until they are so decimated that they can attack in the last moment and destroy them both."

"So what are we going to do?" Serenade felt herself filled with excitement, while at the same time she felt fear for Bryce's safety flow over her.

E's face was blank. "Nothing."

For a moment, what he said did not register with her, but then her face changed from incomprehension to shock to rage in quick succession. "Nothing? These monsters are stronger than either the vampires or the werewolves. If they defeat the two others then they won't stop until they've killed all of us! How can you be so blind?" She could have continued her tirade, but E's smile gave her pause. When she stopped, he laughed.

"I was just joking, Serenade. Of course we are going to the battle, wherever it is. It is our duty as vampire slayers to battle not only vampires or werewolves, but also all evil beings. In addition, we notified the paladins of the problem and requested their aid. They agreed and will be reaching here very soon. We will join this fight, even if it costs us our lives because this is what we are here for. This is what we've been training for. This is what we were born for."

Clapping from behind Serenade startled her, and she spun around to see several vampire slayers escorting two humans into the room. The first one immediately drew her attention, as he was at least ten feet tall, had a shaved head, no shirt, and muscles that looked too large to be real. A large hammer was strapped to his back, and he wore baggy pants kept up with a belt around his waist. The other human, who was still clapping, looked short in comparison, but was still taller than the vampire slayers around him. He was dressed entirely in black and had knives in every conceivable place. A saber was sheathed on his belt.

"Very eloquent, sir. I find myself inspired beyond reason, and I am sure that my companion's feelings have been identically transfigured. Is that not correct, Triplecorpse?"

"Yep." Triplecorpse cared not to be quite as outspoken as his friend.

"And… Who might you two be?" E did not sound annoyed or angry, simply curious.

The shorter one perked up. "Ah, forgive my rudeness, I am Jacque Du Fromage, pirate and assassin extraordinaire! And my obtuse and monosyllabic friend here is Triplecorpse Hammerblow. Not only has he killed more men than he can count (which is no great feat) but he has also killed more than I can count. We are here to join your army in this battle you speak of and to avenge our dead friend."

E chuckled to himself. "Very well, we can use all of the help we can get. If you two are half as good as you say, we should be able to find some use for you."

At that moment, another vampire slayer turned the corner and ran straight into Triplecorpse's back. The barbarian did not move, while the vampire slayer fell to the ground, shook his head, and got back to his feet. Cautiously, he moved around the crowd until he was in eye contact with E.

"Sir, the fountain is being used again."

"By our Werepyre friends?" E asked.

"No sir, the vampire speaking says that he is an emissary of Vladimir, and he is asking for the werewolf King."

E stood up from his chair swiftly and beckoned to all of the others to follow him as he hurried out of the room. After looking at each other for a moment, they swiftly followed.

________________________________________________________________________

When they entered the room with the fountain in it, four vampire slayers were already in it, with pieces of paper and pens. No sound was coming from the fountain, and no image could be seen in it. When E came in he asked for a report. The vampire slayer on the left lifted his pen up from the paper and looked up.

"A male vampire came up and began calling into the fountain, eventually a male werewolf came to it, and the male vampire said that he had Vladimir with him, who wished to speak to the werewolf King. The male werewolf left, and has been gone for several minutes now."

"Have you recorded the conversation so far?" E looked over their notes.

"Yes sir, they have not said much. We think that they might not even respond."

As if to disprove what he was saying, a gruff male werewolf voice split through the fountain, which rippled with the noise. Instantly, all four of the vampire slayers began scribbling onto their papers. "This is the King, who speaks?"

A male vampire was on the other hand. "This is Vladimir, King, and I have a challenge and a proposition for you."

"A challenge?" The King sounded interested.

"Yes. The vampire nation has decided to go to war with you and your people. We want to have one final battle between our two nations, rather than the prolonged conflict that has been going on for a century."

"You have my interest. I feel the same about one final battle, but where do you propose we have this battle? Blood Canyon?" The sarcasm was evident in the King's voice. Blood Canyon was a narrow rift of a valley between two huge, vertical cliffs. Such an environment would clearly favor the vampires.

Vladimir forced a chuckle. "No, we propose that the battle be held in the Great Plain."

The werewolf King paused before speaking, and the shock was evident when he did speak. "Really?"

"Really." Vladimir's mirth was barely concealed.

"I accept your challenge, Vladimir, but I must say that I am surprised by your choice. I had thought that you would choose a small battlefield, where your forces could try to bottleneck my own. I see that you are far more honorable than I ever gave you credit for, and I respect you for that. The Great Plain it is."

"Very well," Vladimir seemed marginally happy at the acceptance. "Shall we set the battle for three nights from tonight?"

"Very well, I look forward to finding you on the battlefield."

"As do I."

Both sides terminated their connection, and the vampire slayers kept scribbling for another moment before placing down their pens.

Serenade looked around and, since no one else was talking, figured that she would speak up. "Well, at least now we know where and when it is." She would have said more, but the look on E's face gave her pause. He stared forward before turning to the other vampire slayers.

"This is true, but this also means that what we have is far worse than we thought. Did you all recognize that voice?"

They all did, and he lowered his head before turning around and walking out. "This is very troubling."

Serenade looked at Jacque and Triplecorpse as if for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. After a moment she stuck out her hand and shook hands with both of them. "Well, I'm Serenade, nice to meet you."

- 26 -


	20. Reunions

Oh, I don't get to do this very often. In fact, I think it's been like… Well, a long time, since last I spoke on one of these. I would first like to thank all of you peoples for reading this, even though it's really long, and I'm sure you have better things to do. I would also like to thank those of you who are commenting and favorite-ing it. It allows me to think that people actually like what I'm doing, so thanks. Also, I would just like to point out that, now, my story is a total of 222 pages in 12 font without double spaces. I'm so happy ^^. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

20

Reunions

Damian did not know why he still walked the halls of the vampire castle even after the council session was over and his talk with N'colto was finished as well. He wanted to think. So much had been happening that required his thoughts on, but he found that he could not focus on any of them, and so felt like he was randomly traversing the hallways looking at large pieces of art and ancient armor from an age not his own. However, once he heard a voice behind him, he felt like he had known why he was there all along.

"Damian?" Vincent walked up behind him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

Damian turned around and smiled in welcome. "Hello again Vincent. I-I am glad that you are still alive."

"More or less." Vincent smiled back.

"More or less," Damian returned. "How did you escape them? I felt that I had sent you to your death when Blood went after you."

A small chuckle escaped Vincent. "So had I, when they caught me, but these two weird humans helped me and fought them off, Blood turned out okay, but at least I lived."

"Two humans?" Damian raised an eyebrow. "Are they with us now?"

Vincent shook his head. "No, they said that they didn't want to join our side, just that they were avenging Lidian."

"Ah," Damian nodded knowingly. "That would be Jacque and Triplecorpse Hammerblow then."

"You know them?" Vincent asked incredulously.

"I only met them once, when Lidian went to visit them. Strange fellows, but they were all very good companions. Lidian always did seem happiest with them…" Damian lapsed into a strange silence.

Vincent felt strange about the silence, so he decided to change the subject. "How did you escape?"

Damian snapped back into attention and smiled briefly. "It is a long story, but I was able to use my eyes on one of the humans who I had met before and we escaped. We captured the werewolf Queen, but eventually a werewolf caught up to us, killed… Killed Leon and Raphael, and let me live."

"He let you live?" Vincent felt something for the two brothers, as they had fought together, and the bond made in battle is strong. 'Almost half of us are dead now.' He though morosely.

"Yes, it was the one I allowed to live, so he was returning the favor." Damian sounded bitter, and he could not exactly tell how he felt.

"What about Sophitia and Othniel?" Vincent just thought about them.

"They are alive, and managed to get the Necromancers to help us." This brought another genuine smile to Damian's eyes.

Vincent thought that was very good news, but then his attention was drawn back to what Damian had said before. "What do you mean, you 'used your eyes'?"

"Well, one of the vampires' basic abilities is to sort of hypnotize our prey and render them incapable of fighting back. The use of it is rather limited, though, as the target must be either completely unaware of what we are, or have been in very close contact with us before. It will work on any human, but the effect is different if the object is of the separate sex."

"How so?" Vincent asked, wondering how to use a power in your eyes.

"Well, it will confuse anyone and render them pliable, but if the object is of the opposite sex, it will make them consider the bite as the greatest ecstasy possible and desire it so much as to make them do whatever you wish them to do to get it." Damian's tone was different than before, but Vincent did not care to find out why.

"So… you made the girl want your bite so much she'd do anything for it?"

"Basically."

"So, did you bite her in the end?" Vincent smiled mischievously and leaned against the wall.

"No." Damian said simply.

"Oh? And what happens when you deny them the ecstasy they wanted so much?"

"Nothing good, I can tell you that. Not for the human, or for the vampire." Now Damian's tone made perfect sense to Vincent. He sensed that he was treading around something he should not, so he changed the subject to something else he had been wondering about for a while now.

"Damian, what happens if we lose this battle that is being planned?"

Damian chuckled. "Then one of two great evils will be destroyed. If you are looking for the traditional answer, and not my own cynical one, then I will say that, if the werewolves defeat and destroy us, they will eventually take over all of our forest. When that is no longer enough and they need food, they will begin to invade the outside world, and take their battle past simple revenge. Every soul they kill will come back as another of their kin, and every battle will make their ranks grow, no matter the outcome. It will take many years, hundreds, probably, but eventually they will take over the continent, and then, as strange as it sounds, the entire world.

"When all beings above water have been turned into one of them, they will revel and coexist until they realize that they still need food, and so will begin to cannibalize each other. They will battle long and hard, but eventually, even with their ability to breed with one another, they will wheedle their numbers down to only two, and those will fight to the death. The last werewolf, which will surely be an enormous beast, will celebrate its victory before it dies of hunger. Or at least, that is what the vampire historians predict to happen."

"Wow." Vincent had not thought it through to that extent, but it made sense in a way. "So is that our race's manifesto? Are we the saviors of mankind?" He smiled sarcastically. It did not matter whether the speaker was a carpenter, politician, or evil being; everyone was in the right.

"Ironic, is it not?" Damian smiled wryly. "Although it does have a bit of truth to it. If we defeat the werewolves, we will continue life as we used to, by sparingly sampling off of humans and animals so as never to extinct them. We can control ourselves, unlike most of them, and so, even though we are undeniably evil, we are the lesser of two evils."

"Everyone feels the need to be in the right." Vincent smiled bitterly.

"Well, to be honest, most of us do not care enough to justify our actions. Most of us simply fight to kill and become stronger. The werewolves to them are just the best way to become strong, and so they stay here and fight them. If there were a stronger enemy elsewhere, rest assured they would be there. It is sad, actually."

Vincent found himself staring at Damian as he was talking, wondering how he could be the way he was. "You know Damian, you're…Different than the rest of them. It's almost like they are all blind to something that just comes naturally to you. You are a good man." Once he said that, he had to stop himself once more, just as he had when he gave his report to the council. Damian had killed his sister! He knew that, and yet he was constantly saved by Damian, who brought him from the life of a bandit to that of a vampire, who fought beside him, and who would have given up his own life to save him. He had to avenge his sister, but he could not bring himself to hate Damian? He could not reconcile the two thoughts inside his head.

If Damian noticed the conflicting thoughts inside Vincent, he pretended not to notice as he gave a self-deprecating smile. "Unfortunately, I am no different from the rest. The only difference is that I kill and regret it, while they kill and revel in it. The killing is still accomplished in the end, and the emotion, reasoning, and motivation behind it is entirely irrelevant when you consider the fact that a human soul is still damned."

"Wow, you must spend a lot of time thinking about things like this." Vincent looked bewildered at all of the thoughts whirling around his head.

"Yes, a long time." Damian's eyes unfocused for a moment, but came back when Vincent spoke.

"Alright Damian, I have one last question to ask you. How do we achieve the Other form."

"Ah, that is a rather hard question." Damian paused. "But one worth answering. You see, up until very recently, I believed that it was something that simply happened once first class was gained, which, by the way, is not really so much a level to be gained as a measure of strength. It turns out that it has nothing to do with first class, but instead comes from killing a Chiroptera and devouring its heart. Although for some reason, I achieved it before then."

"So… there must be some way that you achieved it without being first class or fighting a…" He trailed off.

"Chiroptera," Damian supplied. "Yes, but I am not quite sure what happened. I was very angry at the time, and something just clicked inside of me. I was fighting the werewolf who killed my family and I could only think of that. Afterwards, though, there just seemed to be a switch in my mind that I could use to turn the power on and off at will."

"So, do you think that I could do the same if in a similar situation?" Vincent was already thinking of the possibilities, and of how it could happen.

"Probably, I know that N'colto would really like that, since he did make the treaty just to find out if it was possible, but I can't imagine how you could make that—Oh no." Damian tried to jump back when a large black hand smashed into his chest and thrust him back into the wall. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, the wall was very firm, as it held when he slammed into it. He stared into the gleaming red eyes of Vincent, who was in his Other form, and his horns shot out of the side of his head and curved only once to become like spears in front of his head. The grip on his chest tightened as Vincent growled.

Inside his head, Vincent felt like a veil of blackness had settled over him. He had thought of his family members, but he barely remembered his parents, and only his sister, who he had spent so many years trying to protect, could he really consider family. And he could not help but look into the eyes of the vampire who had murdered the only person he truly loved. Before he even knew what was happening, hate had filled his vision. Hate that was directed solely at Damian. Then he was grabbing Damian, slamming him into the wall, and slowly squeezing the life out of him.

Any remorse he felt was completely and utterly diluted by his complete rage and hatred. She had meant everything to him, and now she was gone, by a whim from this vampire, who had then had the gall to bring him back from the gave to fight alongside him and pretend to save his life. It was sick! He was disgusted at how pathetic he had been—like a dog happy to get the scraps from the table of a man who was eating its family. He had even thought that he was friends with this vampire, although now he saw how the bastard was simply manipulating him in every way possible just for his own sick amusement. He had been treating him like a marionette connected to his lithe fingers with string, but now it was he who was getting the life squeezed from him.

Vincent smiled with disturbingly sharp teeth, and his elongated canines glistened in the moonlight. "Any last words, demon?" Had he been thinking, he would have been shocked at his voice.

"About two more seconds." Was the confusing reply.

"What?" Vincent started, before he screamed in pain as his back broke apart and wings burst from it. He was only distracted for a few moments, but when he looked back up, Damian had grown until they were the same height, and his own hand grabbed onto Vincent's. In another moment, Damian's knee slammed into his stomach, and Vincent doubled over before being slammed to the ground. In moments, Vincent found himself on the wrong side of the position he had Damian in.

Damian's eyes squeezed into slits, and his left hand was on Vincent's throat while his right lifted up to deliver the final blow. Even in his strange state, though, Vincent could tell that something was different about Damian's right hand. It was beginning to turn red, as was the rest of his body. Little nubs of bone began protruding from various parts of him, and when Vincent looked into his eyes, he saw not only hate, but a malevolence that was so powerful it shocked him out of his veiled state of mind. He was still in his Other form, but he now saw things clearly, and he was alarmed at his predicament. Thankfully, though, Damian's hand was still suspended in the air, and it had not gone down to end him.

"Damian?" He could not tell what was wrong with him.

Damian opened his fist slowly, before bringing his hand to his head and standing up. Vincent did the same, and he saw that Damian was now completely red and that the bones were beginning to come out, suddenly, though, Damian flung his head back and screamed.

"Get out of my head!" His wings came back into his back, while the small parts of bones shot out until they looked like blades going down his back and to his tail. His elbows and knees looked similar, and he began thrashing around, screaming incoherently. When Vincent saw his eyes, they glowed a bright, evil yellow.

"Graaa!" Damian yelled, and in his flailing, his hand smashed into the wall Vincent had recently dented with his body. The wall blew away from his touch, and the pieces fell down to the ground below. Wind flowed into the hallway as Damian fell to his knees with his hands around his head. Gradually, though, his thrashings ceased, and eventually darkness surrounded him. It enveloped him like a glove, then broke apart, and all that was left was Damian, who stayed on his knees. When he saw this, Vincent sighed in relief and morphed back himself. He was somewhat pleased to note that he felt the switch Damian was speaking about. Then he felt ashamed for thinking of himself when Damian was still crouched on the floor. He went up and placed a hand on Damian's shoulder.

To his surprise, Damian jerked his head around and looked Vincent in the eyes. What Vincent saw there scared him more than anything he had ever seen before in either of his lives. For the first time, he saw complete fear in Damian's eyes. A terror so complete that it even fed off of him and into Vincent, who looked around worriedly.

"Is he here?" Vincent heard Damian say, barely louder than a whisper.

"Who?" Vincent was extremely on edge, and looked around anxiously.

Seeing Vincent's confusion, Damian closed his eyes and slowly reopened them. When he looked back at Vincent, his eyes were calm like they always were, and his voice was steady and flat. "No one. Please refrain from attacking me Vincent. I realize what I did to you and your sister, but what is going on now is far more important than your vengeance. I am sorry, but there is nothing more that can be done."

Vincent did not know why he had lost control and attacked Damian in the first place, so he felt ashamed listening to Damian speak to him so. He still felt that Damian was avoiding what had just happened, which was rather hard with the hole in the wall behind him. "What was that?"

Damian looked behind him and a smile flashed across his face. "It seems that I can no longer transform into my Other form."

"Why?" While feeling mortified at Damian's loss of power, Vincent also felt something boiling inside him that felt like…happiness, or superiority.

"Because every time I try to, that happens, and each time it gets harder to change back." For a moment, Damian seemed afraid again, but he overcame it swiftly.

"Why?" Vincent also wondered if this was something that only applied to those who achieved the Other form Damian's way. That worried him.

"I do not know." Damian lied.

Vincent realized that he would get nothing out more out of this very strange conversation, so he smiled and clapped Damian on the shoulder. "Well, watch yourself, you almost killed me there."

He succeeded in getting a genuine smile out of Damian. "Yea, likewise."

With a friendly nod, Vincent went about his way, but inside he was confused on so many levels. Most of all, though, he wondered just how he saw Damian. Half of him thought that he was a good man, but the other half of him hated him so intensely for what he had done. He had to wonder just what he would do if he were ever really given the chance to kill Damian. That was what he had come here to do, and he had sworn to his sister that he would kill Damian for her, but now his thoughts were completely convoluted.

He did not know how, but being in the same squad with Damian, meeting his companions, fighting with them, and losing them had changed him in a way he could not comprehend. He actually felt the loss of his squad members in a way he had never felt for those around him. When he had been in the army, none of them had cared about him, and he had cared even less for them. In fact, he had only felt marginally bad about his side losing wars, since it meant that he would be paid less. He was only too glad to walk away from them with his sister in tow. When he had been a bandit, he had cared about his fellow bandits so little that he barely noticed when they died, save that he knew it would be hard to find a replacement. In all of that time, he had cared only for his sister, but now that she was dead, as was he, he was finding that he was actually caring for the wellbeing of others.

He had a strange pressure in the back of his throat whenever he thought of Lidian, who had been so kind to him when he first became a vampire and had allowed him to be equal with her throughout the time they had been together. And the feeling only became stronger when he thought of Raphael and Leon, who had accepted him so quickly, had laughed and joked beside him, and had battled back-to-back with him against a horde of enemies.

Now they were dead, and for the third time in his life, Vincent felt sorrow for the passing of another. He could not say that he enjoyed the feeling at all.

Damian, for his part, was not feeling well either. The fact that he still could not turn to his Other form signaled several problems. The first was that it meant Lucifer was still interested in him, and that alone was enough to disturb him and make him uneasy, but that was added to the fact that he could no longer compete with others, like the captains, for instance, and also the werewolves. It was true that some vampires who were not in their Other form could kill first class werewolves, but those were few. Usually, they went in groups, with only a few, like Damian, attempting to kill one on their own. Damian had thought that he could kill one before he had truly battled one, but now he was not so sure. It was true that he was stronger and faster than he had been when a second class, but that still did not mean he could kill one, let alone survive in a battlefield where there could be dozens.

Still, the only other option he had was to surrender himself to Lucifer, who had apparently taken to trying to overrun him by force instead of persuasion now, or trying to kill a Chiroptera and somehow hoping he could get his power back normally. Neither of those options appealed to him at all. Thinking about N'colto and the Chiroptera did make him remember that Vincent had found a way to achieve his Other form without killing one of them, and he also knew that the news would make N'colto very happy.

As he walked back out of the castle and down the streets towards his home, he wondered how Vincent had achieved such a thing. It was true that his circumstances were relatively similar to Damian's, but Damian was reasonably sure that if emotions were the key to going into the Other form, many vampires would have achieved it as well. There were only two other options that he could think of to explain it. One was that Vincent had Damian's blood in him, and because of that he was somehow predisposed to gaining his Other form. He liked that idea, but it did not seem very plausible to him, and testing it would be very hard. The second idea, though, was very disturbing, and Damian did not even want to think about it at the moment.

And so, instead of thinking about it, he decided to go home and get some much-needed rest and nourishment. On the way there, he stopped by the marketplace and purchased several pints of blood and some leather skeins, which he promptly filled with the blood. Not caring for what a sight he made, he sipped from the skeins as he walked home, relishing in their taste and texture while also feeling his vitality returning. His steps unconsciously quickened, his thoughts seemed to slow, and he felt a strength return that he had not known had left him. It was not power or muscular strength, but it felt more like life.

Soon he was home, which was a moderately sized, nondescript house that he had been renting, but that now, with his new salary, would more than likely be able to buy soon enough. When he opened the door to go in, he was at first startled to see a woman standing in the middle of his hallway, but then he remembered that she had been given to him earlier that night. She was cleaning something when he came in, but stopped what she was doing for a moment to look at him when he entered. He could tell that she was anxious, so he smiled.

"Hello again…" It was at that moment he realized that he had never learned her name. "Uh, what is your name, after all?"

Despite herself, she smiled slightly. "My name is Amy."

"Ah, well hello again, Amy. I hope that you have not been working too hard in my absence." Damian smiled while looking around. His residence had never been especially dirty, since Preatias had taught him to always be in order, but now it looked cleaner than it had in a long time.

She chuckled self-consciously. "Well, I guess I've always had a penchant for cleaning. My mother said that I was born to be a maid, since I couldn't stand it unless something was as clean as possible. Still," her voice caught and softened. "I don't think that she ever saw me being here…" Her voice trailed off and she looked to the side while bringing her hands to her face. She turned away from him to hide her tears, but he could still hear her sobs with his ears, and his enhanced eyes could see her body shaking.

She felt like a fool. She had thought that she would be able to deal with being a slave, since life had never been very kind to her. She had expected to be treated poorly, and to persevere all of the torture until she died, but now, at the first hint of kindness, she was breaking down. Oh, how her mother would despise her if she saw her like this. How all of them would hate her if they could see how she had failed at everything. 'And now I'm going to spend the rest of my life with these demons.'

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she failed to notice Damian until his hand was on her shoulder. She turned around, expecting to be struck or worse for having been so completely useless, but no blows were forthcoming. Instead he only looked at her with pity, and when she stared into his eyes, he almost seemed human.

"I am sorry for the circumstances that have made me your master, but soon there will be a very large battle, and it is very probable that I will die in it. Whether that happens or not, I will make sure that you will be released after the battle is fought. I promise you that." Without waiting for a reply, he walked past her, around a corner, up the stairway, and into his room, closing the door behind him.

For a moment she stood, uncomprehending, then the tears came back to her face and she fell to her knees on the ground, not knowing what to think. She could not tell if what he had said was the truth, or if he was simply toying with her in an attempt to completely break her spirit. Her thoughts went back and forth between hoping and dreaming about her future to clamping those thoughts and visions down with the cold realism that no vampire would actually do that. Eventually, with the knowledge that she would probably have to awaken earlier than her master the next night, she retired to another room he had given her before he left for the council. When she finally fell asleep she dreamed of her family, and wept even more in her sleep.

* * *

Damian was awakened as the moonlight through his window proscribed the time to be three hours until the sun would go down. The artificial night imposed by the spell-made canopy over the vampires' city was useful, he agreed, but it was also very disorienting. It disrupted one's view of the outside world and sense of night and day, so he did not particularly enjoy it, but he also knew that the only other alternative was to live outside of the city, which was basically death. He wondered what had awakened him, since his sense of time was usually very good. He lay on top of a mattress in his clothes, since vampires have no hygiene, and as such they can wear the same clothes for a very long time, for a few moments of time before slowly standing beside it and stretching. He was about to decide to see how… Amy was her name, was doing when he heard her scream come from the front door.

He grabbed his sword from beside his bed and burst through his door, ran down the stairs, turned one corner, and stopped when he came in sight of the door. It was open, and in front of it, Amy was lying on the ground with her hands propping her torso up. She was shaking, and he could easily understand why. A demon stood in the doorway, well, more accurately, bent over until its head and upper torso could be seen through it. Unlike Amy, though, Damian could tell that this was a vampire in his…or her, Other form, so he smiled and walked forward.

"Welcome, I am sorry for my slave's fright, but you do seem to have an unnecessarily frightening form at the moment. I am Damian, and this is my home. Do you have some business with me?"

The vampire smiled widely and laughed. Once he spoke, Damian recognized him instantly. "Hah, no worries Damian, it's me, Samael. I've come to take you up on that offer you made for a duel. I figured that, since we only have like two more days until the battle starts, we should fight now. That way, if one of us is seriously hurt or dies, he'll have those two days to recover. Genius, right?"

Damian seriously doubted if two days would be quite long enough to recover from dying, but the rest made enough sense to him. He slightly berated himself for foolishly accepting the seemingly offhand suggestion, but also felt that this would be a good opportunity to see how another captain would fight and how strong he could expect the others to be.

"Very well, I'm afraid that you are a much earlier riser than I am, however, so I must beg your indulgence of a few minutes to prepare myself. Would you like to come in?" Damian stepped to the side and swept his hand towards the inside of his house in offering, while at the same time wondering if it was large enough to fit Samael's hulking frame.

Samael smiled widely, showing sharp teeth, and slowly shrunk to his normal size, which was still a bit too tall for Damian's door. He slouched a bit and tucked his body through it, before finally being able to straighten up when he made it through, although his head was still only a foot or so away from the ceiling. Damian smiled and told Amy to see Samael to the living room while he went to gather his gear. He had not thought what he would use to battle a captain if it ever came to that, but he always knew that he felt more comfortable with a spear in his hands, so he decided that he would fight with his spear for as long as he could. When he got to his room he strapped his spear, sword, and two knives onto him, put on his boots, and made slight modifications to his outfit before heading back downstairs.

When he got down, he was amazed to hear Amy laughing, and upon entering the living room, he saw her sitting across from Samael and holding her stomach as she laughed and he smiled. When Samael saw Damian enter he kept his smile and stood. When Amy stopped laughing, she looked at Samael and smiled.

"Thank you."

His smile widened as he turned and walked out, with Damian following behind and wondering what had just happened. When they made it to the street, he asked Samael what he had said.

"Oh, nothing really important. I just have this really good joke that I tell people from time to time, and I just love seeing women smile. It reminds me of the sun." They kept on walking for awhile before Damian broke the silence again.

"So what is the joke?"

Samael smirked good-naturedly. "Aw, but I can't say it so soon. If I use it too often, it stops being funny. Gimme' a few years or so, then I'll tell you. If we live that long anyway."

Damian chuckled slightly. "So where are we going for this?"

"To this place where the captains can go if we want privacy. It's been there for a long time, but I guess you wouldn't know about it, since you're new. You know, you're the first new captain in over twenty years."

"Is that so?" Damian had not thought about new captains.

"Yep, amazingly, almost all of our captains survived the Werepyre war, although most of our troops were decimated, so we spent most of our time replenishing the units rather than adding new ones. So yours is the first new unit since that war, and the only other captain to be added was Julius, who took over his unit after I accidentally killed the old captain. He was one of the newer ones, and he looked really strong, so I asked if he'd spar with me, but I thought he was stronger than he was, it turns out, and I accidentally stabbed him in the head and took it off of his body."

"His entire head?" Damian was not faking his shock, or interest.

"Yea," Samael scratched his head in embarrassment. "I honestly thought that he would be able to block it, so I gave it everything I had. Turns out it was just a bit too fast for him, and his sword came up while his head went off."

"Ah." Damian wondered if this battle was something he should try, but before he could think to question it, they arrived at a cylindrical stone building that looked fairly large while still being small enough to be unnoticeable. Samael walked up to one of the walls and placed his hand on it. At his touch, a section of the wall swung open, and he and Damian entered into the stone building.

On the other side was a spacious stone court and several alcoves with large pillars in front of them. In the alcoves, Damian could see some of the other captains, who were either here as routine or to see Damian and Samael's fight. With a fast look around, he soon discovered that the entire building was basically an arena with an open-ceiling and slots for spectators, he also found that all of the captains he had met before, even the captain of the first unit, were there in various places.

'Great, so now if I lose they will all be able to see it.'

Samael wasted no time, but went straight to one of the alcoves, picked up his curved metal pole with a spike on the inside, and walked to the middle of the grounds, beckoning Damian to walk up to him. As Damian did, he noticed that the pole looked to be too big for him, and then he remembered what Samael had said about it, and a wave went through his body as the full parameters of the fight were thrust upon him.

'He will be fighting in his Other form.'

As much as he did not want to, Damian kept walking towards the center of the grounds, resolute in his determination. When he reached the middle, Samael beamed in happiness, shouldered his weapon, and swiftly shifted to his Other form. When he finished, all Damian could do was gape. He stood taller than even a normal first class werewolf did, while most Other form vampires were a few feet shorter than them. He had four horns, which shot straight out from their roots at the four corners of his skull, but screwed around so that the grooves in them were clearly seen. His wings were smaller than Damian had expected, though, and he wondered if he could stay airborne with them like that. The limbs and tendons were normal, but the leathery skin in between them was slimmer, making them look more like daggers than true wings.

Damian drew his spear and stepped back into his stance. They stared at each other for a moment, before Samael dropped his guard and stared at Damian quizzically.

"So, this is when you go into your Other form and we fight." He seemed marginally uncomfortable, as if the mood was broken.

Damian tried to smile as he also dropped his guard and began to try to word his response. "Well, I feel as if I have been relying on it for too long, and I would like to see how a captain-class Other vampire would fight and what I could do to battle one without my own power." He hoped that he had said it satisfactorily enough, but when Samael dropped his usual smile, he figured that he had said something wrong.

Samael's frown, assisted by his screw-horns, spiked teeth, and demonic face, was terrifying. "So, you think that you can beat me without being on the same level as me?" He twitched unconsciously, and his entire body looked like a wound spring.

"No!" Damian did not mean to shout, but it felt like he had to or he would be attacked. His voice had the desired effect of making Samael relax, so he continued in a softer voice. "Of course not, I am not sure that I could defeat you if we were both in this form or the Other form. As it is, I am sure that I will lose, but I wish to know what I can do, and I trust that I will at least survive well enough to stay alive."

Samael did not smile again, but his face lost its frown, and he seemed to be thinking. He spoke slowly when he did. "So, it won't be my fault if you die while finding out what you can do?"

"I would welcome it." Damian did not know the truth, but he knew that he would rather fight a complacent Samael than an angry one.

Now he smiled just a bit, and he brought his pole in front of him, grasping it with both hands. "Welcoming death, that's not like the last captain Damian. I like you. Don't die, or I won't have anyone fun around anymore."

"I'll make sure to." Damian stepped back into his stance again, but changed his mind and shifted his front hand, which was near the point, to the higher point of his chest while lowering his back hand to his waist. "When you are ready."

A wide smile flashed across Samael's face, then he flashed towards Damian with speed greater than anything he had ever seen. In seconds he was right next to Damian with his bladed pole in one hand, swinging towards him. Damian had no time to move his feet, so he opened his hands, letting the shaft of his spear rest in the crook of his thumbs, and shot it out vertically in a block. When the weapons met, however, Damian realized that he had forgotten what it was like to fight an opponent that was immensely stronger. His spear, made of metal, bent inwards, and the spike that protruded from the dip in the stick came perilously close from his face, but then his feet lost their grip on the ground, and he was sent flying backwards. His flight lasted all of six feet before gravity reclaimed him and he hit the ground, but the strength of the blow kept his body flowing past, so he simply bounced, kept going, bounced again, and then slid for several moments before coming to a stop and getting back up to his feet.

'So, no more blocking.' Damian saw Samael for another moment before he was speeding towards him once again. 'How can he move so fast?' Damian rolled to the side under a horizontal slash, hit the ground with his feet and leapt back the other way over another lower one, stepped one time over as the spike slammed into the tiles at an angle, then slid down into a half split to move he torso away from a kick. Damian slid his back foot in front of his front and spun with the crossing of his legs, ending with a stab straight at Samael. The spear flew towards him, but with a pop Samael was flying away, then in another second he was flying back, and his pole was held in front of him like a ram, and Damian could see him coming closer, but the spear had not even reached the end of its strike, and he could do nothing to stop the tip of the pole from crashing into his stomach.

Once again he flew back, but this time it was with even more force than before, and he bounced twice before saw a very solid stone pillar in his flight path. Desperately, he stabbed his spear into the ground and tipped his body into a backspin, tucked in his legs, and slammed into the pillar. He felt his legs shriek in pain as they absorbed the weight of the blow, but they held, and he dropped to the ground shaking with tension and effort, but still alive. He watched Samael, who laughed, and then disappeared.

Damian opened his eyes wide and quickly shot his head to the sides in a vain attempt to see him, but at the last second his head looked up and he saw Samael falling towards him with speed greater than gravity could attest for. Damian did not think anything, but rather jumped to the side out of pure reflex, and saw Samael slam into the ground, raising the stone out of the ground with his raw power. In the split-second after he hit the ground, however, he was heading towards Damian, who was still in the air, and swinging out with both hands. Damian stuck his spear out with both hands and thought of nothing but lightening the blow. Then he saw that the attack was heading towards his head, however, and shifted the spear until his hands were very close, and held onto only the last foot or so of the spear. The pole hit that one foot, and instead of flying straight back, Damian spun with the strength of the attack in midair, with his arms and torso going low and his feet kicking up. As he spun, he held his spear with both hands like a sword, giving all of his strength to a counter at Samael's face, but he felt a blow of air and Samael was once again out of reach.

Damian hit the ground, shuffled for a bit to regain balance, then held his position and began thinking furiously. 'I can't hit him like this, he moves so fast that I can barely follow him. How can he move that fast?' He expected Samael to attack him again, but he stood where he was and paced back and forth. Damian wondered about this until he saw the small trail of blood on the stones between the two of them, and saw that he had cut a line in Samael's forehead. 'So his reaction is normal, he can just move amazingly fast…No, that cannot be it, because his hands and feet, while fast, are not so fast that I cannot avoid them, his body is what moves fast, like he has the wind behind him…' Damian's mind shot back over the fight, and the thought suddenly hit him.

Then Samael was flying towards him, and Damian smiled despite his pain. He was right. Now he only needed to find some way to use this knowledge. 'His hands and feet are normal, it is just his movements.' He rolled forward, barely passing behind the vertical strike and going between Samael's legs, and stood as quickly as possible while stabbing behind him without looking, then quickly ducking and jumping back while in a crouch. He felt the wind of Samael's blade fly over his head as he launched himself back, and saw blood on his spear, although it was only on one side, so he only cut, rather than pierced.

Samael did not fly back, but turned around slowly. "Very good Damian, you've survived this long, and even wounded me twice with no such wounds yourself."

"I do not think that I could survive two hits from you," Damian could not help but notice. "But it is good to know why you are so fast."

"Oh?" Samael looked amused.

"Yes, it is your wings right?"

Samael rewarded him with a beaming smile. "Yep, they are special to me, and even though I can't fly with them, they do allow me to move very quickly for short amounts of time, and to leap very fast."

"Very nice to know."

"Yes, and that's not all, these horns are special to me as well." Samael indicated his head. "You'll notice that you can only dodge my strikes, and not follow my movement. So what happens if I combine the two?"

He did not wait for a reply, but tucked his head back, lifted his wings in a way he had not done before, since he had nothing to hide, and shot forward.

Damian gasped as, before he even knew it, he was being flown back, and two spiraling horns were imbedded in his side while another was in his leg. He had his spear in between Samael's head and his body, but that had been there before, and was not a product of anything he had done. He knew without thinking that Samael's aim was to launch him into the wall, so also without thinking he used all of his strength to shove himself away from his spear and off of the horns. He barely had any time, so he simply shoved himself off and over, let go of his spear with one hand, and let himself fall to the ground. A moment later, Samael smashed into a pillar, and his horns shot into the rock with a sound that made teeth grind.

Damian hurt, and the fall did nothing to help him, but he had a feeling that he hurt far less than if he had let himself be rammed into the wall. He could feel where the three holes in him were, but he could not let that stop him. About the time he stood up Samael had torn his horns from the stone, and the two of them faced off.

'Straight lines, straight lines. He moves so fast it has to be in straight lines.' Damian's mind sped with thoughts. 'So all I need to see is him disappear to know where he is going when he is ramming me so-'

His thoughts were forced to stop when Samael stopped and picked up his wings. Right as he did, Damian stuck his spear in front of him horizontally, in a block, and closed his eyes. For half of a moment, which seemed like a full minute to Damian, he heard and felt nothing, but he waited, his senses at their peak. The time began to feel like an hour to him, but then he felt pressure on his spear, and at that very moment he shot his feet into the air. It was only a fraction of another second before his arms and body were carried behind him with the strength of Samael's charge, and his feet slapped down, onto Samael's back. He let go of his spear with one hand once again, but then he grabbed it instantaneously, and as he fell back he dragged the serrated edge of his spear along the limb of Samael's right wing.

At first nothing could be seen, but then in seconds the movement of Samael's wings could be seen, and once they were visible, he beat them twice more before his flight stuttered and he jerked violently. One more beat, and the right wing snapped off, spewing blood over the stones, and Samael went spinning out of control. His haphazard flight lasted only a few more moments, though, before he hit a wall with the side of his body, and Damian flinched involuntarily as he heard the sickening crunch that erupted.

In all honesty, Damian did not think that Samael would stand up after that impact, which had left large splashes of blood all over the courtyard and a silhouette on the wall. At the same time, he was hardly surprised when Samael clambered to his feet and turned back around with his pole dangling from one hand. What did surprise him, however, was that Samael's almost ever present, smile was replaced with a mask of rage. Something on his face told Damian that Samael was not longer completely in control, and that Damian would have to be far more careful than before. When Samael let out a yell that shook his eardrums, the thought was completely confirmed.

Again, that feeling that he should be running stood strong in his mind, but he knew that, even if he wanted to, with his wounded leg he would not make it very far. So instead he stood his ground as the giant vampire ran towards him with speed that exceeded anything he could do himself, but that seemed slow compared to the almost-instantaneous movements before. Thankfully, in his state of rage, he was being very transparent, as his arms were held high, indicating a vertical attack.

Damian held his spear out in a high horizontal block, but when Samael swung down, he shifted one hand closer to the other, which slanted his spear, and the blow, to the side while taking out all resistance. He spun his hands over his head and tucked in his right leg while swinging his spear back to slash into Samael's stomach. As he had predicted, Samael's blow slid harmlessly to the ground, but after Damian struck him, he realized his mistake. He had been so used to Samael leaping back at every attack that he had become used to it, and had unconsciously expected it to happen. As it was, he was too close, and Samael gave him no time to recover.

Samael roared more and tore his stick from the ground to swing it in one hand to the side, which Damian dodged under by bending his knees and sliding over. He used that movement to stab upwards into Samael's body, but then he had to jump back to avoid getting smashed and impaled, and then to the side of another probable death stroke. Samael simply kept stepping forward, swinging twice with each step and kicking and punching with all of his might, growling all of the way. Damian dodged, skipped, leapt, rolled, jumped, and did everything in his power to dodge the attacks that he simply could not take or block, and even managed to get in a few more cuts, but nothing that was going to be able to stop Samael any time soon. At that point, it was simply a matter of which of them could last longer. Samael was exhausting more energy, but he arguably had more to give, while Damian had to perform complex dodging patterns with three holes in his body.

Then, however, Samael began to slow down as his attacks became more sluggish, and his breathing heavy. Damian noticed this, and put more energy into his dodging and counterattacks, waiting for the perfect moment. He did not have to wait long. Samael had slammed his stick into the ground, which Damian had slid to the side of, and then kicked out. Damian, seeing his opportunity, spun towards the kick once and just barely went past it. Then he was inside Samael's guard, and there was nothing the latter could do with all of his attacks spent. Damian brought his spear back, but then saw a flash of movement, and for just a moment saw Samael's remaining wing heading towards his face. Then everything went black, and Damian fell to the ground.

Samael barked a loud report of victory, and he smiled as he had before, but this time it looked different—more feral and ferocious than enjoyable, and his raised his bladed weapon above his head with both hands and swung it down. Yelling in triumph as he did.

In a flash, three Other form vampires were under the weapon, and their weapons stopped the stick, although the three of them recoiled from the strength. The one closest to Damian, Valdivai, immediately took control. Her two kama-clubs were crossed just inside the crook, and the blade was inches from her shoulder.

"Diana!"

Another Other form vampire flew behind Samael and launched her sword-whip around him. The whip spun around him several times before it caught and the blade turned inwards, catching on the inside of his shoulder blade and keeping him from breaking free.

"Bilal."

The vampire in front, with a screw sword, stepped back while still holding it up to the pole, and the vampire in the middle stepped forward and placed his sword with many other blades to the pole. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then smiled and began rotating the sword back and forth with his wrists and fingers, twirling it, and its many other swords, around and around the pole. He then abruptly stopped, spun the other way, stopped, spun, and continued this, moving the pole back and forth through the strength and placement of the perpendicular blades. When the pole was moving in unison with the sword, he stopped again, shifted the sword just a fraction, which guided it to a shorter blade, spun it to the right, which caught it between two crossed blades, pulled it up sharply, and spun the sword around, bringing the pole with it despite Samael's raged attempts to stop it. Finally, he shot forward and lifted the sword until a blade bent at a ninety-degree angle to be a hook was above the pole. With a final stomp, he shoved the sword down, and the hook caught the pole and pulled it from Samael's iron grip. It fell to the ground, and Julius quickly snatched it up.

"Would have been easier if you two weren't holding onto the other half of it." Bilal muttered as he kept his sword in front of him and circled to one side of Samael.

"If you want to block his attack on your own, be my guest." Valdivai rolled her shoulders experimentally. "Anyway, how do we get him out of this? Last time he got like this he was at it for months."

"Let me try." Another vampire, not in his other form, walked up to Samael and looked up into his eyes. "Calm yourself, Samael. It was a good fight, and you won. Let that be all. He was strong, and he lasted for a very long time. Be satisfied."

Slowly, Samael's face lost its menacing visage, which was replaced by a look that was a mixture of happiness and apprehension. He grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry about that everyone, just got a little carried away, it all. That wall really did a number on me. I'm okay now, you can let me go Diana."

With a shrug, She flicked her wrist, and the sword disengaged itself from his shoulder blade while the rest of the whip simply fell to the ground. When she did, Valdivai, Bilal, and Julius all sheathed their weapons in their various sheaths, while the captain of the first unit looked over Samael's wounds and Diana curled up her whip. They all shifted down into their regular forms as well.

"I think he should be okay." The captain looked to the others. "His wounds were not too bad."

"The same goes for this guy." They all turned to see Ezekiel kneeling over Damian's body with his palm outstretched. He looked like he was concentrating. "He's got some deep punctures, but that last hit was superficial, only knocked him out. All of the rest will heal with some blood too. In all, your most controlled fight yet Samael."

Samael obviously could not tell if he was being serious or making fun of him, so he just smiled like he always did. "Thanks Zeke, I kind of did get too crazy on him there at the end, though. Sorry."

"You should probably tell him that when he wakes up." Ezekiel smiled. "Good thing he still has two more days to recover. We'll need men like him for the battle."

"All I know is that I'm not saving him again." Julius spat on the ground. "Next time he decided to take on a first class werewolf without his Other form, I'm just gonna' laugh at him and let him die. Ah, crap." He yanked his sword out of his body, looked down, and shoved it back in again. "Did it too fast last time, missed a bit."

"I agree," the captain of the first unit said, walking up to Damian. "He will have to realize that there is a limit to honor if he wants to survive in this war. If he does that, he may just prove to be the best of us."

Samael pulled Damian onto his shoulder and they all began to walk away.

"Still, I think he would have won if he had been in his Other form, don't you guys?" Ezekiel said as they walked.

"Shaddap." Was his only reply from Samael.


	21. Afterthought

21

Afterthought

There were many towers in the vampires' city, and they shot into the air like bladed spires over the huddled forms of the lesser buildings. None could boast the knowledge of what each and every tower held, of even when it had been built. To many, the towers had simply always been there, and served as little purpose as the artificial constellations that littered the pseudo-sky above them—as many of them had never been inside one, or even seen the entrance to one. Those who hold that view, however, are drastically mistaken, for each and every one of those towers serves a distinct purpose. Some were filled with enormous vats of magically preserved blood, and others held countless weapons of every imaginable shape and function, while others were filled with cells to store either human slaves or vampires who, for any number of reasons, have been deemed unfit to live in normal society.

It was to the last of these that a figure walked. He was a dapper vampire, which, while not entirely usual, was also not an oddity in vampire society. For while there were many warriors amongst the vampires, there were even more that simply lived their lives as if nothing were different from a normal society save for the fact that they drank blood instead of devouring flesh to live. There were those who were completely oblivious of the war, or who would consider it only in the prospect of being able to expand their holdings, and there were those who flooded the gambling houses in an attempt to bet on who would win the war. So it should come as no surprise that there were those who wished to pretend that nothing had truly changed since they had become damned, and among those were a sect who wore clothes of the latest fashion among the Cattle. How they discovered those fashions is certainly a far larger secret than any other in that forest.

Regardless, this man walked with the dignified air of one who was simply traversing through an area of which he had nothing to do with. The sound of his cane clacked against the cobblestone, and his top hat was tucked into one neatly bent arm. Many who passed him by, especially in this area of the city, would sneer at him, but none would pay him very much heed save those who begged from the alleyways, and they were far too emaciated from lack of blood to do more than call out to those who passed by for money or blood. He ignored their calls, as any of his class save the most benevolent would do, and continued walking towards the tower, which was placed in the middle of a courtyard that the locals had taken to using for a bazaar of sorts to sell their wares.

Wading through the press of the populace, the vampire eventually found himself at the very tower itself, with its impossible smooth walls shooting up to the sky that showed no sign of craftsmanship. As any religious one would, he brought up his hand with the hat in it and placed it on the wall as if in passing, but scarcely had he done so when he disappeared from sight.

The crowd was so great that not more than a dozen people saw him whisked away. Half of them passed it off as an oddity, while the other half claimed that it was divine judgement for touching one of the spires with a great trespass in one's life. What none of them saw, however, was the vampire reappear inside the tower and place the top hat upon his head.

When he did, his entire visage changed. His face morphed completely, and the expression went from one of amiable superiority to one of abject hate and anger. His clothes changed from those of a dapper to one dressed in leather, with large boots, and a strange hat upon his head. If one looked hard enough under the hat, one would be able to see the terrifying scar of the crucifix still burned into his forehead.

He stood in a small room, with only one doorway, and a desk right next to it with a vampire sitting behind it. The vampire looked up from the papers in front of her and smiled. "Good evening mister Dimitrious."

He did not return her courtesy, but immediately demanded the condition of the prisoner. The woman nodded absently. "He is being well taken care of, and has even been growing slightly stronger over the years. As it is, though, he will never be able to completely recover unless he is given a large amount of blood."

"Good." Dimitrious stepped past her and into a large winding stairway with doors at every twenty feet or so. He began walking up the stairway, enjoying the strange screams he heard every once in awhile. This was a prison for the insane of the society, those who had let their bloodlust overcome them and became beasts who would attack anything with blood inside it—the bloodwraths, and those whom someone had paid enough money to have put here. It was, of course, the latter of these that Dimitrious was here to see, and he once again lamented having the vampire placed at the top of the tower, as he would once again have to walk all of the way to the top.

Just as he always did, though, he thought of seeing the prisoner's face, and that was enough for him to walk up the seemingly endless flight of stairs until he reached the doorway at the end of it. Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a bundle of keys and, after fingering through them and finding the correct one, placed it into the lock of the door and turned it. A subtle shift ran through the air, followed by a loud clank, and he pushed the door forward.

Inside the cell at the top of the tower was a spacious, comfortably furnished circular room. A fire burned inside a hearth, but no smoke came from it, and the warmth that came from it was negligible. In front of the fire were two large, cushioned chairs, and sitting in one of those was the withered form of what looked to be a very old vampire. He was facing away from Dimitrious, who walked to the second chair and sat down.

The other vampire took no notice of Dimitrious, but simply sat staring into the fire. In fact, if not for his occasional blink of the eyes, Dimitrious might have assumed that he was dead. It was funny, Dimitrious though, without any true humor in his mind, how he always thought that seeing his old foe like this would make him happy, but instead he only felt hollow and angry. It was as if he still regretted not defeating him with his own strength rather than political subterfuge.

Finally, it was the other who stirred, turned his decrepit head, and spoke to Dimitrious. His voice was inconsistent and reedy, and it wavered back and forth as if it were ready to break at any moment. "So, what brings you to my humble throne room, Dimitrious?"

So he was going for sarcasm. Either that or he was finally completely mad. "You know very well. I want your memories on what Lucifer said about the next champion."

"Lucifer…Lucifer?" The old one brought a shaking hand to scratch his balding head in bewilderment. "I do not think I can remember anyone named Lucifer. Pretty name though."

Definitely sarcasm. He was becoming childish in his old years. "I know that you remember, Preatias. You've never forgotten a single thing since you were created. Why do you think I still keep you alive even after I defeated you?"

Preatias smiled, straightened in his chair, and spoke again. Now his voice was firm, and of a much deeper tone than before. Despite his elderly appearance, he still sounded like a young man when he spoke. That was another aspect of him that Dimitrious had always despised. "Oh? Has something happened to the prospective you had in mind only a little while ago? You seemed to think that he fit the ideal perfectly."

Dimitrious was loosing patience. "That is of little importance. Now tell me."

"You seem to dislike playful banter more and more as the years pass, Dimitrious. I think you may be getting older." Seeing Dimitrious' expression, however, Preatias wisely decided to forgo any further jabs, and settled back into his chair while closing his eyes. For a moment he was silent, but then, as if from another's mouth, words came from him in a slow, chanting cadence.

"The next champion will be a powerful warrior, but that is not all that will be required. The next champion must also be fighting purely for reasons not of his own. Finally, the champion must be fighting for revenge for the loss of one very close to him."

When he was done, he opened his eyes and stared at Dimitrious, who was mulling over the information, as he had many times in the past. Although this time he reacted differently than the pensive, wondering, anticipatory mood before. Now he seemed disappointed; a mood that, when expressed by Dimitrious, was not passive, but destructive.

"Can it be that you have finally found your elusive champion Dimitrious?"

Dimitrious for once did not mind the conversation, as it allowed him to vent. "I thought I had, I truly did. He fit the mold so perfectly, especially the revenge, but he rejected Lucifer's gifts completely when we offered them to him. Lucifer even personally met with him, which he hasn't done in ages, but he still rejected him and all of us. Are you sure that was all of the prophecy from the first champion?"

"Would I still be alive if my memory were not perfect?" Preatias chuckled slightly.

"No, no you would not." Wearying of the banter, Dimitrious rose to leave, but before he made it to the door Preatias called out to him. He turned about, for a reason he knew not. "Yes?"

"Who was your choice for champion?"

"That information is hardly necessary for one of your position." Dimitrious went to leave again, but was stopped in his tracks by Preatias' next words.

"It was Damian, was it not?"

This time he whirled around, and fire was in his eyes. His words were cold as ice, and stuck together like tar. Very slowly, he said, "How do you know that name?"

"Oh?" Undaunted by Dimitrious' terrifying visage, Preatias had a look of one secretly enjoying himself. "And here I thought you knew everything that happened in our fair city."

"Tell me!" Dimitrious' voice sparked in anger as he yelled, and a darker undertone ran through it. "Tell me or I swear I'll kill you where you sit and feast on the last of your blood."

"Calm yourself, Dimitrious." Preatias was absolutely enjoying himself. "Damian was my pupil, long ago. I found him in some city and brought him back here to train as my student. None of you ever knew because I never allowed myself to be seen with him and he was smart enough to not incite much curiosity towards himself by not standing out above the crowd. He always harbored thoughts of revenge, though, even though I did all that was within my power to stop him, and even tried to escape so that he could kill his enemies. I stopped him many times, but one night I allowed him to go. He undoubtedly thinks that he caused my death by not being near me those nights, but I purposefully let him go so that he would not be here when you were."

"So he's your student." Dimitrious had fought down his rage from earlier, and was back to his superior demeanor. "I suppose that would be why he rejected us. You always were a glorious bastard. Always bent on doing what was right, even though you were as damned as the rest of us. I suppose you struck your dogma into him then." He paused when Preatias chuckled with humor.

"I did none of that, my old friend. I kept him with me whenever possible, and taught him how to fight and to think, but I never tried to influence his decisions. In fact, up until now, I had assumed that he would not have followed me and was either dead, or had turned to decadence by now. It brings me great joy to hear that, not only is he not dead, but that he has adopted my philosophy." He beamed, which showed several missing teeth. "You bring joy to an old, dying vampire, Dimitrious."

In response, Dimitrious' eyes narrowed, and his next words were in a whisper. "Damn you old man, damn you and your bastard offspring. I'll see to it that he's wiped from the face of this earth, if it takes me five lifetimes." With that he spun around, slammed open the door, and practically flew down the steps. He left behind an old vampire, who smiled to himself and brought his blanket closer to him. "It was nice talking with you too, O second eldest of the living vampires."

* * *

The two nights passed without great incident for Damian, with the first spent packing his belongings and heading out with all of the others in the army and militia. They had made quite a spectacular sight, with over one thousand, five hundred fighters passing through the large gates of the wall and out into the woods, but there was no celebration to mark their departure, as was the custom of the humans. All of the vampires came to see the army leave, but few smiled, while most simply stared impassively. None were under any illusions of an assured victory, and all knew the numerousness of the werewolves and that, if the army lost, they would all die soon as well.

And so it was a somber procession out into the woods, and none of the warriors spoke as the trees unbent and shoved themselves out of the way of the army, creating a huge path for them to tread on. In a few miles, they met with the Necromancers, who had just reached them that morning, and with almost no exchange, the two sides paralleled and began walking towards the Great Plain. They walked for the entirety of the day, and then through most of the night. When they finally reached the Great Plain, they began to set up their respective camps, with the vampires on one side and the necromancers on the other.

When he was finished setting up his tent, he sat and looked over the plain before him. It was called a plain, but in reality it was more akin to a valley if anything. It was a vast clearing where a large amount of trees has been missing for centuries, but that had flowing grass everywhere. The ground all around sloped downwards towards the inside, forming a depression of about fifty feet from the sides to the middle. In all, it was the perfect battlefield for the werewolves because it allowed them to use their numerical superiority to full advantage. It also allowed them to surround the vampires by being sloped, and the lack of trees gave them full mobility, especially their first class fighters. Damian sat and wondered just why the Patriarch and Matriarch had chosen such a place, since it carried almost no advantages for their people, but he knew that they must have some reason.

Eventually he stood and began walking towards the main pavilion, which was where the final meeting of all of those who would take part in the war would be. As he walked, he wandered from his original path, realizing that the council would not start for at least another hour or more, and that he had time. As one of the ten captains, he would be required at the meeting, and he also wanted to go so that he could understand why they were fighting here, but he saw no reason to appear too early. So he walked through the camp and allowed his senses to roam.

He saw many vampires, attending to their various tasks or simply walking, sitting, lying, or standing. He wondered how many of them he would see after the night after next, and then wondered if he himself would be alive to see them. He heard the shriek of a human woman who had been kept alive for just this night, and noticed that there were quite a few of those around tonight. Many, undoubtedly, did not believe they would live through the next twenty four hours, and so they tried to live this one part as best they knew how, which was by saturating themselves with every pleasure they could think of. Others looked like they had shut down, and sat or stood where they were with their eyes glazed over. He knew that they were looking at their past, and probably wondering if it had been worth it.

Another female cry made his thirst come up within him, but he denied it, as he usually did. He would save his thirst for before the battle, as he did not want to become overcome by bloodlust in the middle of battle, since that would mean immediate death. All around him, he sensed a mixture of feelings. There were spikes of anger, whether at the enemy or their leaders he could not tell, scattered shards of fear, throbbing feelings of bloodlust, and the ever-present low buzz of fear. Many of them probably did not want to fight, and many also knew that they would die, but they all would fight, and many would die simply because their leaders commanded them to.

'So many lives will be wasted,' he thought "and all because of a few people's actions. It would be tragic were we not all already damned.'

So consumed was he in his thoughts, that he did not notice N'colto until he practically ran into him. He looked up and saw N'colto smiling down at him, or at least that was what he guessed his face was trying to convey. Whatever his face was doing, however, it was obvious that he was ecstatic.

"I heard about what happened with Vincent. Thank you, from myself and from my entire race. Thank you."

"You are welcome, but I cannot promise that anything will change. Vincent is from my lineage, so that may explain how he was able to change as well. I may not have solved anything at all."

"Be that as it may, you have given my people more hope than we've had reason to have in many years, and for that I thank you." N'colto bowed at his waist until his head was lower than his knees.

"Yea," Damian had no idea how to respond. "And again, you are welcome."

N'colto came up, and it looked like he had a tear in his eye. "Are you heading to the council pavilion?"

"I suppose so." Damian just now wondered why the council members liked to name everything about them 'council something,' but decided it was not important.

"Good, then we are of the same purpose, let us walk together until we make it there."

"All right." Damian saw no harm in it.

They walked in almost complete silence, with only slight communication being passed between the two of them, until they reached the council pavilion. It was a grand tent, larger than any he had seen before and one that could easily fit a hundred people. It had taken almost half of the night to raise and soared fifty feet into the air. The main flap was open, and the guards—always guards—let them inside the mostly-empty council room. There were at least thirty minutes before the meeting started, and as such almost none were seated in the raised sets of benches. Most had not arrived yet, and most of those who had were huddled in little circles, murmuring and discussing who-knows-what. These groups had always disgusted Damian, as they tended to be full of backstabbing politicians simply trying to discover how to triumph over their newest rival, and also the rare warrior unfortunate enough to be drawn into a conversation over his head. These warriors were almost always taken advantage of in some way or another.

Before his disgust could really set in, however, Damian saw two vampires from across the room, and immediately ran towards them. One was facing away from him and one towards, and when the one facing him saw him, he gestured wildly to the other. The other turned around, and by the time Damian reached them, both Sophitia and Othniel were facing him and smiling. He clasped hands with Othniel, then turned to see Sophitia staring at him. She tapped her foot on the ground.

"Well, if it isn't our kick-ass-then-get-captured-then-escape-and-steal-the-queen-then-get-pummeled-by-the-same-guy-he-beat-down-then-lose-the-queen-and-come-back-to-get-promoted-boss."

"Have you been practicing that?" Damian smiled softly.

"For hours, I've had to hear it at least a hundred times before now." Othniel chuckled with him. "Still, you don't seem to have gotten off too badly, if you ask me."

"Indeed," Damian looked over Sophitia, who was dressed in a voluminous black cape with a large hood. "You will be a necromancer tonight?"

She curtsied here large coat and turned around. "Yep, and tomorrow night as well. I will have to be a necromancer first, and a vampire second."

"Well then, I wish you luck with your part of our battle, whatever that may be." Damian hoped to learn what it would be when the meeting commenced, but he did not expect it. The vampires were notoriously stingy with their battle plans.

"Pfff," Sophitia scoffed. "If I had to rely on luck, or, for that matter, this baffoon," she jerked her thumb at Othniel. "I would have been dead long ago."

Othniel shot up his hands and feigned hurt. "Hey now, back up. Who was it that saved you from all of those werewolves?"

"Hmmmm," she pretended to think. "Why, that's right, me."

"Oh, that's right, isn't it." Othniel looked down and scratched his head in embarrassment. Damian laughed with them, and they exchanged stories for the time until the council started and they had to go to their respective seats. The pavilion filled up steadily, and by the time Damian got to his seat, the entire tent was packed. When one of the guards at the entrance signaled that all of those who had to be here were, Vladimir rose from his seat and addressed the crowd.

"Good evening. This will be our last council before our battle, and it is now that we will discuss our strategy. First, all of our units will engage the army head on." There was an immediate murmur among the vampires, but that was quelled by one look from Vladimir before he began speaking again. "Each unit will use position A and then come together to form one large triangle made from smaller triangles of units within it. You will split through their forces like a spear and fight to the middle. Once the triangle reaches the middle of their forces, you will split up into your units and form circles within them. Make them full circles, so that the werewolves will not be able to leap inside them. Once those formations are set, the battle will rest primarily upon the necromancers and demons, who already know their roles. Although we will be the ones sustaining the bulk of the damage, we are the only ones of our allies who may do so and still survive. This battle depends upon your strength. Can I trust you, my warriors?"

There was a resounding shout of approval from those vampire warriors who were present, and Damian gave his own voice to the throng, although not as enthusiastically as others. Vladimir had said "We," but any sane individual knew he meant "You." Additionally, if the ten units were to fight, that meant that the five hundred or so militia would be kept back to defend the camp instead of providing support. Vladimir waited for the approval to end before speaking again.

"N'colto, I also require the use of you and your people. I need you all to maintain a high view of the battle and assist wherever you deem it necessary. Please only provide your assistance where you deem it completely vital. The militia and myself will stay with the offensive magicians and necromancers inside the camp to protect them and provide unbiased assistance. Is the plan unclear to any?"

Dimitrious stood, and was recognized. He spoke in a tone of nonchalance, but his words sent a chill down Damian's spine. "My lord, if we are to use a spear to pierce the enemy, who is to be the tip of the spear?" He cast a subtle look at Damian as he sat back to his seat.

Vladimir pondered this question. "It has always been the duty of the general to choose the champion for a battle. Darius, choose."

Damian did not even need to see the glee on Darius' face to know what was coming. He pretended to look thoughtful, and scanned the room very deliberately, heedless of Samael jumping up and down with his hand in the air, before finally speaking. "Patriarch, Matriarch, I feel that I must choose…" he paused again for effect, but Damian already knew what his fate was. "Damian, one of our newest captains."

Vladimir began to turn to Damian, but Saphira turned stood and faced him. She stared at Damian before speaking. "You have been appointed, Damian. Will you accept this appointment?"

Damian knew all too well what this appointment was. It was clearly a great honor, but it was also a death sentence. Few given that position survived the battle, and he was to be at the front of the triangle facing thousands of werewolves. Nevertheless, there was only one answer to that question, and when he replied, he knew that he was dead. "Yes, Matriarch, it will be an honor to serve you."

She smiled at him, and just for a moment he forgot that he had signed his own death, but then he saw Vladimir's face twitch for a moment, and also Dimitrious and Darius smiling widely, and he felt it all fall back onto him. He fell more than sat back down on his seat. 'Oh well, it is not like I thought I would live through this war anyway.' Absently, he thought that he had been right. He had made far too many enemies over the last months, and now it was coming back for him. His success had killed him, it seems, by gaining him notice, which had brought about the, at best spite, and at worst hate, of the three strongest warriors in all of vampire society. He would have to watch his back if he were to live through tomorrow night, even if he did somehow survive being at the head of an army.

A grin unconsciously appeared on his face. 'Yes, tomorrow will be fun.'

* * *

Bryce also stood over the valley that night, seeing the tents of the vampires and thinking about the battle to come. The werewolves had left their lair with considerable celebration, and had feasted well the night before, but when they left, they left an empty lair, as every werewolf went to battle, even the civilians, women, and children. Also, he wondered why the vampires had chosen this place as well, but more than that he thought about his message to the vampire slayers. On one level, he hoped that Serenade had reached them just so that she would be safe and that they would not respond so that none of them would have to die, but on another level he truly wished they would come so that both of these races would be destroyed.

"Deathfang." A familiar voice sounded behind him, and Bryce turned to see the King walking up to him.

"Sire?" Bryce had no idea what the King wanted of him, but he was in no place to decline at least a conversation.

"Deathfang, I require your assistance," the King said after a short pause.

Only one answer. "I am yours to command milord."

The King smiled, which was strange. "Obedient as ever, Deathfang, but on this occasion I do not want to command you as your King, but to ask you as a fellow warrior. Walk with me." As they walked, the King explained himself. "I do not trust vampires as a matter of course, and my mistrust of Vladimir is many times of any other being in this forest. He has been their acting leader for too long to be so naïve as to allow his army to fight in a battlefield even remotely giving us an equal footing, let alone suggesting it. Equality naturally favors us, and he knows it. I suspect a trap, and one of great strength if he believes he can wipe us from the earth in one battle." He paused, and after a suitable time, Bryce responded.

"What would you have me do, sire?"

The King looked at him while continuing to walk. "I am asking that you lead beside me for a counter attack to that trap. We have saved almost all of our first class warriors; all save for a few specially selected for their presence in the main force. They have no idea how many first classes we have, and so will not be able to notice our absence until they spring their trap, at which point we will send our entire elite force to counter it. We will crush them in their own deceit, and our kind will finally end this conflict and be allowed to live in peace.

Bryce knew that this was an opportunity unlike any he could have hoped for to know the inner workings of the werewolves. This time it was not pretense that made him answer immediately. "I will sire, but is this not subterfuge?"

"Yes it is."

"And are we not a culture that avoids and abhors the uses of such vampire-like approaches to war?"

The King chuckled and flashed a grin. "Yes, and it is an image we love to cultivate amongst those whom we fight. After all, what would 'beasts' know of strategy?"

Bryce smiled as the King walked away and looked at the battlefield before him in a completely different light. Tomorrow would be fun.

- 13 -


	22. Of Honor, Deceit, and Death

22

Of Honor, Deceit, and Death

Damian looked over the army that was arrayed on the other side of the plain, and for just a moment he felt a small tremor in his heart. Thousands upon thousands of werewolves, looking like a sea of brown, stood ready to descend and consume him and his forces at any moment. The army behind him looked miniscule in comparison, but Damian felt his fears quell as his thoughts shifted from the legions before him to his sister. She was all he could think of, and, for a moment, he could have sworn he smelled her scent float through the air. When his eyes settled back down on the mass of bodies before him, they still seemed just as large, but they had lost all of their terror.

"Let us do this." He whispered as a smile splayed over his face.

Just then, he saw a gray speck separate from the rest of the mass and walk down the slope to the middle of the valley. When it stopped, Damian recognized it as Scar, the general of the werewolf armies. Scar stood silent for a moment, and then he spoke. His voice, deceivingly full of vitality, carried over the valley to the vampires and resounded across the entirety of the plain.

"I am Scar, first class werewolf, general of the Royal Werewolf Army, and survivor of the Werepyre wars. I ask now if any of you vampires has the honor to face me in single combat. Have any of you the courage to face a mere animal as myself in battle?"

There was an immediate roar, and Damian knew it was Samael, but that was muffled, and Damian could tell without looking that he was being held down by at least three other captains as he desperately tried to race his way to the middle. Normally, all would be satisfied with him dueling the general, but this was an officially announced battle, and as such, honor dictated that there was only one who was given the first opportunity to battle the challenger. If that one backed down, though, the battle was open to any. However, such an act would forever be remembered and recorded in the vampires' annals.

Damian felt that all of their eyes were on him, and once again there was only one recourse. He slowly walked away from the ranks of his unit and down the gently sloped field to the werewolf who waited for him. 'Damn honor.' He growled in his mind. When he reached the middle, Scar smiled with yellow teeth and bowed. "Greetings again Damian, vampire first class. It is good to know that at least one vampire has something between his legs. Your honor is commendable, but you surely do not expect to defeat me, do you?"

Damian bowed as well. "There are many others, but they were not allowed to battle, as it was my right. Greetings to you as well, Scar. I do not pretend to know the outcome of this battle, but as long as you and your kind recognize that we have honor, my life will have been well spent."

"Interesting words, coming from 'Scum.'" Scar had a better memory than Damian had given him credit for, and that old man way of saying things in a perfectly annoying but correct manner.

"Well, sometimes even Scum can transcend itself; become something greater when given something to fight, or die, for." Damian replied.

Scar actually seemed to ponder what he had said, then flashed his yellow teeth again and drew his sword. "Consider your point made. Now, shall we give them all something to gawk at?"

Damian drew his own sword in the instant that Scar charged forward. He had wanted to pull out his spear, but he knew that this was also a fight to show what the vampires could do, and to fight with a spear at this moment would reflect negatively on his race as spears were typically seen as a coward's weapon. Normally, he would not care, as winning was all that was important, but here it was different. He had an entire race to represent. All of these reasonings flew through his mind in a moment and produced the actions of drawing his sword, holding it in both hands, and settling with his weight on his back foot as the werewolf charged forward at him with speed that was faster than any werewolf he had ever battled, but still slower than Samael.

Scar swung his sword out in a horizontal swing from the left side of his body with his right arm when he was within range, and Damian shifted his body to the right while placing the flat of his blade in the way of the sword and reinforcing it with his left on the other side. The weapons clashed in a spray of sparks, and Damian was forced to push harder as an unexpected strength almost tore through his defense in the first blow. Before he recovered from the blow, Scar reversed the flow of his weapon, swung it around his head with blinding speed, and attacked from the other side with the same strike save that his palm was facing up. Damian swung his arm around and switched his left arm to the other side and blocked this one as well. Once again, Damian was forced to give more force than he had thought was necessary, and this time Scar was prepared for the block. Once the swords connected, he spun the sword with only his wrist and brought it back on the other side of Damian's sword, barely missing his arm, and smashing the guard towards where he had tried to block in the first place.

Damian was thrown to the side, along with his sword, and was barely able to throw himself back the other way to avoid Scar's back swing. As it was, the sword cut down diagonally right behind his feet. When he landed, however, Damian realized that he had overextended himself, tripped, and fell to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and threw of a quick defense to deal with the inevitable assault, but none came. When he looked up, he saw that Scar simply stood in his stance with a slight smile on his lips.

"I would never hit an honorable man while he is down. More importantly, it seems that your are meant to wield a weapon with a pole involved, and yet you fight with a sword. Why is this?"

Damian smiled his thanks. "It would not be 'honorable' to fight a sword with a spear." Without another moment of hesitation, he lunched forward and swung his sword over his head in a downward-diagonal cut aimed for the neck. Scar was being attacked on the left side of his body, so he crossed his right arm over his body and blocked the attack with one hand. The instance Damian felt the impact he pulled his sword towards him and lunged forward in a thrust straight ahead at Scar's chest. Scar continued with the movement in his block and spun his body to the right, to the side of Damian's thrust, and threw out his left hand in a powerful spinning back knuckled blow. Damian was unprepared for the speed and strength of the unbridled strike, and fell back as the werewolf's knuckles smacked against his face.

He tucked his neck and arms to turn his fall into a backwards roll and came up just in time to block the first attack that came his way. Scar never faltered, but continued the slash past the sword after they made contact. His blade went to the side and up just a bit, and then in the blink of an eye he riposted his weapon back the other way, slashing at Damian's head. Luckily, Damian had not blinked, and he dropped to one knee, sending his head down and his body forward by the length of his lower leg while swinging his sword out with one hand just as fast as Scar's attack. Scar's eyes followed the attack despite its speed, and they widened as he saw the trajectory. He immediately retracted his sword and, for the first time in years, leapt back and sucked in his stomach.

They disengaged, with Damian having to regain his footing before being able to resume a stance and Scar looking at his stomach as a small line of blood formed and another flowed down from it. He looked at Damian with humor in his eyes. "Well done, Damian. I am sorry that I underestimated you with this weapon. It seems that you are almost as proficient with it as your chosen one. Maybe this will actually be fun."

Whatever Damian meant to say or would have said was lost when Scar shot forward as a flash of gray and a bright line of metal in the moonlight. This time he did not bother with a single attack, but launched a flurry of strikes toward him. For his part, Damian quickly backpedaled and used both hands on his sword to focus solely on defending himself. He found that, if he tried with all of his skill, he could see the attacks mere moments before they came into his range, and so he was able to block them. With every several attacks or so, however, he was forced to take a step backwards just to keep up. He could not think about it, though, as he had to constantly block, parry, and stop all of the countless attacks that flew his way.

Scar did not let up, but continued to attack again and again. It seemed like he was made of iron, since his attacks never slowed, but if anything, became faster as his arms warmed with the exercise. A fierce smile that resembled more barred fangs than anything else was upon his mouth, and several times he actually growled in delight as his attacks sped up just a bit.

Damian was finding it hard to block Scar's attacks. He could not figure out what the problem was, but it was like they always came from the direction he did not expect it to. It was like his opponent knew every thought, both conscious and unconscious, and coordinated his attacks to it. The one place Damian considered to be safe inevitably filled with a blade, and when he started suspecting the places he did not suspect, the attacks came form those he normally would have suspected. He was thankful for his fast reflexes as, if not for those, he would have died minutes ago. Had it been minutes? Or had it been seconds? He could not tell anymore, and in another moment his thoughts fled from him like hares from a fox and he had to fill his mind with pure reflex as he worked to block all of the countless attacks.

And yet, it did not even seem like his opponent was fighting him, even though the blade, which looked at times to be several blades, denied the concept. Still, despite the mortal danger he was in, he felt like the fighter before was not even fighting him. But what was he doing? His attacks felt like they were completely random, like they were spur of the moment with no forethought. 'But what is he doing?'

The force required to make one complete thought was not without consequence, however, as at that exact moment, one of the many blades passed right under the handle of his sword, and Damian felt it stab into his side before he slapped it away with his own blade. Still, the pain felt welcome, as when the edge pierced his body, it seemed clear to him what was happening. 'He's not fighting me, he's testing me, like a rat.'

He noticed then, that each of the attacks was placed with perfect precision. All of the strikes made use of a weakness in his swordsmanship that only showed itself every several continuations or so. The blows were not meant to kill him, yet, but to learn everything about him before finishing him off with a final, perfect attack. 'I know now!'

Still, the knowledge did nothing to lessen the torrent of swords flooding all around with tidal force, and he still had to give ground. Although, now he had begun to quickly step a bit to the side as well so that he would not be run too far towards the werewolves, which was where he had somehow noticed he was heading. He continued blocking, but also forced his brain to work as well. He tried to not just look at the tip of the sword—that would not be enough to survive—but now looked at the blade, the hand, the elbow, and finally at the entirety of Scar's body as he dispensed two or three attacks every second. He felt like he was in a race against time, as eventually Scar would find the perfect flaw in his guard, and then he would be dead.

Eve as he tried, however, Scar's attacks became even more unpredictable, as if he knew what Damian was trying, and was trying to make it harder on him. At the same time, Damian noticed that he was blocking each attack just another inch farther up the blade than before, and this disturbed him far more than he could explain. Still, he did his best to analyze every movement that Scar made, and as he did, he was amazed to notice that he was beginning to see something. It was just the barest tip of what he was looking for, and it was not something he could focus into a real thought, but he let his body go with it, and found that blocking the attacks became far easier.

In fact, within a few moments of his unconscious epiphany, he was blocking the strikes halfway between the two of them, and he no longer had to take any steps back. The blows came on a fierce and swift as ever, but there was something different. A familiarity flowed over him, and now he knew how Scar was able to fight him like he knew everything about him, because, in a sense, he did.

They battled for a few more seconds before Damian did something he had thought was impossible, he struck back. Scar's last blow had been a stronger one meant to leave his guard there to attack from the other side with a swift weak one, but instead of keeping his guard and swiftly switching over, Damian spun his sword out as fast as he could. Scar barely missed a beat, and retracted his sword to slap the strength from Damian's sword with his own, but with that one move, the tide of the battle changed. Damian took a step forward, blocked an attack, and attacked back. Soon the two of them were moving forward, to the side, and back and forth, as their sword flashed between them in intricate patterns Damian himself was not even sure he could comprehend. Their footwork was basic, and yet it looked like a dance for how they matched one another.

Then there was another change of tide, as Scar's sword moved less, and Damian's sword moved faster, until eventually he was the one pushing Scar back, and Scar was devoting everything he could to defending. Damian was actually pushing the General of the werewolves back! He thought for just one moment that he might be able to win, and, as if he had been waiting for it all this time, Scar barked and slashed his sword in from the side. Damian's sword was out in an attack, but he swiftly brought it back to block the attack.

His sword went to intercept the opponent's, but for some reason it never did. Maybe it was the speed of the attack, maybe the angle, maybe the trajectory, but for some reason, the blades passed right by one another, and Damian watched as Scar's blade moved inexorably closer to his body. It took all of his ability to pull his sword back and place it next to his body, but even then, he felt the sword slice into his arm and grind against the bone before finally being stopped. When it was, however, the excess strength blew Damian back, into the air, and onto the ground. He lay there for a moment, but then, slowly, scrambled to his feet.

Scar stood where he was, a smile plastered to his snout, and his breath heavy in his lungs. "Very, very good, Damian. I can honestly say that I have not fought one of your caliber since the first battle between the vampires and werewolves. However, I must inform you that I have completely analyzed your swordsmanship, and any more attempts at fighting would be futile. If we battle again, you will be dead within three attacks. You have proven your point, once again, and I will still count you honorable if you secede from this battle now. Quit, and return to your side." There was no lie in his eyes, and Damian knew, from his Familiarity with Scar's attacks, that he was right. Suddenly, his bypassing of Damian's block did not seem so accidental, and with that realization came the knowledge that another skirmish with this werewolf would mean death.

'A funny thought, death.' Damian could not help but thinking. 'If I died fighting this werewolf in this forest, I wonder what would happen to me? Would Lucifer be able to claim me?' Despite his thoughts, he brought his sword up and settled into his stance.

"I must decline. Death is not so fearsome that I must flee from it. Besides," he chuckled just a bit. "Only the challenger may withdraw from a duel."

Scar almost looked like he was saddened by the response. "Very well lad. Rest assured that I will always remember your name, and my people will sing songs of you at our feasts."

With that he dropped his sword to his side and walked forward. Damian readied for his final battle, but then he noticed something strange about Scar. He was breathing heavily, like before, but the rest and conversation had done nothing to decrease his heavy breathing. If anything, he seemed to be more fatigued now, and it did not take his Familiarity to know that something was wrong. Then he took one more step, and it all became clear when Scar stumbled and fell to his knees. His right hand clenched onto his sword with fierce determination, but his left hand clutched at his heart, and his panting took over his entire body.

He knelt there, as a servant desiring the boon of his master, and it looked as if every breath was a battle for him. Damian walked up to him, with his sword raised in defense, and when he reached him, a gargled laugh escaped from his throat as he grimaced through his pain.

"Well, there you go lad, it looks like I'm finally too old for this kind of thing. Seems your people will have to sing songs about me. You win this, since I can't continue. Kill me and take my heart, before I die of shame."

Damian stood over him and raised his sword above his head. It fell to the ground as he knelt and pulled Scar to his feet, setting his shoulder inside his armpit. He turned him around and walked him slowly back to the werewolf line, where a pure white werewolf came through the crowd and took Scar from him. It pulled him back through, chanting spells as they walked.

Damian turned back and walked to his sword, which he picked up and put into his sheath. All was silence, on both sides of the line, but once his guard met his sheath, he heard a guttural voice from among the werewolves pronounce his one-word death sentence. "Attack!"

Damian quickly shot his head around and found that he had let Scar take him far too close to the werewolf line, and even if he sprinted as fast and as hard as he could, he would not be able to make it back to his own side before he was caught and ripped to shreds. For their part, his side had received no order to charge, so he had no hope there.

"Well, I guess this is where it ends." Damian turned towards the werewolves and pulled his spear from his sheath, readying himself for one hell of a last stand. They came at him just like an avalanche of fur and claws, and the first one had just reached him when it simply exploded into pieces.

Damian had been about to attack it, and was very puzzled, until he saw N'colto swoop down and rip another werewolf in half like it was made of soft tissue. He then leapt over and grabbed onto Damian with his large talon-like feet and in moments they were flying through the air faster than even the werewolves could chase. The Chiroptera flew him to his own lines and then dropped him to his original position, where Vincent, whom Damian had chosen to be part of his own squad, handed him a small vial filled with blood. Damian quaffed it and felt his side, face, and arm heal as he looked to N'colto.

"Thank you. I thought I was dead."

"Don't mention it." N'colto licked the blood from his fingers. "I cannot have the only true hope for my race dying in some honor duel now can I?"

"I guess not." Damian worked his arm experimentally before looking at Vincent, who was still staring at him. "What?"

"What the hell was that? You let him live." Vincent did not seem angry, simply surprised, and maybe just a little angry.

"Yes, I did." Damian spoke as if just realizing it. "Damn honor."

That elicited a chuckle from Vincent. "You can say that again. And here I thought that mister Worldly-Wise-Vampire would have figured that out by now."

"Yea, shut up." Damian smiled, and then turned his mind to the task at hand. A wave of werewolves were sweeping down at them, and it was his job to get all of his troops to charge them back. Even as he steeled himself to rally the troops, he heard Darius, who was safe in the camp with the Patriarch, call out the order to attack. Damian ground his teeth and shouted "Position A!" with all of his strength. He broke out in a run down the slope, and did not look back to see if his troops were listening to his order, or even if they were following him. Somehow, he just knew they were there.

The two sides headed towards each other. One was many times the other, and spread out in a massive wave, which made it look even larger, and the other was clumped together like a blade, which made it seem even smaller. One side the complete incarnation of order and unity, while the other a manifestation of pure chaos and anarchy. When they met, it was not akin to two rocks smashing into one another, or two volumes of water, but it was more like a knife cutting into flesh. The black of the vampires slipped in between the brown of the werewolves, and their wedge continued to tear apart the insides of their army, as the forces of the werewolves closed down behind them.

Down on the ground, Damian spun, let go of his spear with one hand while sliding the other to the very end of it at the last second, and decapitated his first opponent. Its head had not hit the ground before he was past it, grabbing his spear with both hands and goring his second up inside its ribcage. He jumped over its erect body while pulling the spear out, landed, ducked under a swing from a weapon he did not pay enough attention to recognize, sliced the owner's leg while coming up, and then slit open its windpipes. It gasped out something, but he kicked it to the side and kept moving forward. A large sword came smashing down, but he stopped it with a horizontal block, slammed the shaft of his spear into the werewolf's face, kneed it in the gut, spun the spear around, and shoved the tip of the blade through one eye.

Two stepped forward and lunged at him, trying to defeat him with a multitude of attacks, but the end of his spear wove around their weapons and defeated every move they attempted before he lunged and disemboweled one. He then ducked under the slash of the other, which severed the body of its comrade, and spun to stick his spear into its leg, twist the shaft in a circle and then yank it straight up, pull it out, and stab it into the back of the monster. He felt the soft lack of resistance as the blade slipped through the rib and pierced the heart. Another came at him and brought its weapon back behind it in an attempt to give its full strength to one attack, but before it could even execute its attack, Damian was in front of it. He jabbed the shaft of his spear into it face, then dropped down and cleanly sawed off one of its legs. Not bothering to finish it off, he moved past it to his next opponent. It punched out with spiked fists, but he let the attack pass between him and his spear, then spun, caught the arm at the elbow with his shaft, then broke it. He moved closer and stabbed the werewolf under the armpit. When it fell, it never rose again, and Damian was past it.

With every kill, he took a step further. He never let himself stop, never went to one side or another, and never spared his opponent. Finally, he felt that he had gone far enough, and he mouthed the words to a spell that amplified his voice. When next he spoke, it was as if his words came from the sky itself.

"All units, position A-V. Unit captains, command from here." Almost immediately, his unit was behind him, and he felt them snap into place as a smaller version of the original "V." Damian quickly led the way once again as his unit splintered off in another direction. The single blade inside the werewolf horde instantly broke, and ten, smaller, blades burst from it. Each of them went in a different direction, and each cut a swathe in their way, leaving werewolf and vampire bodies behind them. No matter how many they killed, however, the uncounted masses of the werewolves barely seemed to diminish in the slightest. When he felt that they had once again reached their destination, roughly in the north-west quadrant of the werewolf army, he spun past an attack, hamstrung his opponent, and then called out in an unaided voice to his own unit.

"Position O."

As he exchanged a quick flurry of attacks with a werewolf, ending with him stabbing it through the foot, the thigh, and then through a kidney, he saw his unit form around him. They fleshed out the area around them, and eventually they became a perfect circle. It was filled within, just as ordered, and only a dozen werewolves were killed trying to leap into it and becoming impaled before they stopped attempting to do so altogether. The other squads had either done so already, or were very close to doing so, and soon the ten blades had morphed into ten spinning globs of black inside the sea of brown. Even as he bifurcated an over-zealous werewolf, Damian heard the affirming shouts of the other squads inside his head and smiled. A werewolf tried to leap down on him, but Damian knelt to the ground and shoved the bottom of his spear into it. The werewolf saw what was happening, but it was in the air, and had no way of changing its course. It slammed into the tip of the spear with its crotch, and continues to fall down it until the blade came out right next to its neck. Damian pulled out his sword and slashed the werewolf four or five times before engaging another one.

The first part of the plan was finished, and now all he had to do was survive. It was a prospect that seemed less and less possible as the night wore on, but at least eventually he was able to rip his spear from the spine of the werewolf after reducing it to mush through the course of several minutes. It was slippery, but that was fixed after only a few more minutes of battle.

* * *

"Well, it seems that your Damian has performed his part to perfection, Darius. It was such a wonderful choice for you to make." Saphira stood at the edge of the valley with all of the other tactical leaders, and although she was among them, it was clear to all that she was of a different class. Her long hair fell straight behind her, and her closely-melded armor glistened in the moonlight. In her hand was the same sword that pierced Galstryx's heart more than a century ago, and her eyes flashed with anticipation of the kill as it had not in decades. She was an imposing figure, and the only one who compared to her was the male at her side.

Vladimir stood beside her with his hands by his side. He stood as if her complete opposite, with his long robe. It was black, as was expected, and had slits up the front, back, and sides. Under it could be seen leather leggings made from werewolf skin. He had no visible weapon, which made him all the more menacing, as no enemy who had seen his weapons lived. He looked to the side at Saphira before ending Darius' fuming silence. "Yes, that he has. Now it is time for the battle to truly begin. We must strike now, while the werewolves are still without unity. Once they stop mulling about and attack the enemy within, our forces will start to greatly deplete." He turned to Skull.

"Right, right." Next to those two striking figures, Skull looked very diminutive, and he had adopted an uncharacteristic hunch when around them. Still, when he closed his eyes, he straightened unconsciously, and he looked every bit the leader of the necromancers. When he opened his eyes again, his skeletal features pulled back in a ghastly grin. "It is done. Now all of my people know of our plan. We will begin the invocation shortly."

Othniel, who just happened to be around, since Sophitia was around to facilitate the discussions in case anything went wrong, wondered what they were talking about. He also wanted to with Damian and Vincent at that moment, fighting in the battle, but once again Damian had prevailed upon him to stay in camp and become Sophitia's official guard. He even went so far as to officially relieve him of his duty to fight in the battle. Had it been anyone else, whether Damian telling him to stay behind or Sophitia with whom he had to stay, he would have flatly refused it, but this he just simply did not have the will to. They must have known he had no choice too, and now here he was, far away from his friends, while they fought and possibly died. 'Damn I'm worthless.'

"Yep." Sophitia replied. Then, without giving him room to reply, she spoke again. "In answer to your wondering about what we're doing, all of the necromancers will chant the Spell of Invocation at once. The result should be quite interesting."

"Why?" Othniel was, for the moment, distracted from his worthlessness.

"Because for a very long time—even before the werewolves were created—the vampires have been bringing the bodies of their victims here en masse, and as of today, it is the greatest burial ground in all of the continent." Her eyes gleamed, and her head tilted down with a smile of malevolence.

It took just a moment for it to sink into Othniel, and when it did, he almost laughed. "So that's why Vladimir—"

"Exactly, now be quiet, doing this in complete unison is going to be trying on all of us." Her head bent down and she began speaking in an unknown dialect as her hands shifted and her fingers carved furrows in the air before her. At the exact moment she finished, a tangible wave of…something, blew past Othniel and swept down the hill towards the warriors there. Now Othniel grinned.

* * *

Bryce, along with the one hundred first class werewolves specifically selected by the werewolf King to fight with him, felt the wave of magical energy even though they were on the opposite side of the Great Plain and behind the trees. They were all standing, waiting. A spell had been put up by Ghost late that morning, and those first class werewolves who could still use magic—about five—were working with him to uphold it. As long as the spell was up and none of them moved outside of its parameters, none would notice them, even if they searched for magic. That was the beauty of Ghost's greatest magic. It was almost not magic at all, but rather simply a bending of reality.

Bryce had been standing silent, watching the ramifications of the vampires' earlier attempts at strategy and, while seeing how what they were doing was right, knew that they would not last. He had honestly just been waiting for the vampires' true plan to come into effect and when he felt the power flow over him, he knew it was there. It was obvious that all, whether vampire or werewolf, fighting or immobile, felt the power, but only a few knew what it meant. Even Bryce could not know what was happening, until he saw the dots of white begin to show, and even then for a while nothing made sense.

The vampires were still black spots in a flowing ring of brown, but once the power flew over the field, little specks of white began to shoot up all around. Some came up right in the middle of the werewolves, and some in the middle of the vampires, but soon it was obvious that there was great planning, as the vast majority appeared outside the ring created by the werewolves. A large band of white shot up and surrounded the brown ring as thousands and thousands of skeletons tore their way from the ground, grabbed for weapons, and then charged as one. Even as the first wave attacked the werewolves, another formed behind them and charged as well.

At first, they caught the werewolves by complete surprise, as they were unnervingly silent, but once they discovered what was happening, a large howl erupted, and those who were not directly fighting the vampires turned outward to battle the undead all around them. They tore the undead in pieces, many times killing two or more with every attack, but the undead simply continued coming, and soon the black and brown mural of battle became interspersed with streaks of white as the sheer numbers of the undead broke through at places.

'Skeletons, but that means… Necromancers.' The existence of necromancers in Darkovia had always been an issue of contest between the vampire slayers, and especially between Bryce and Dejan. Sometimes they had come so close to discovering them, but nothing substantial had come up. Now he could tell with his own eyes. If Dejan were alive, he would be gloating and wagging his large beard in delight.

The King growled when he understood. "Ah, so Vladimir has shown his true colors. I always knew that bastard would try something."

"Orders sir?" One of the first classes asked.

"We join the fray. We'll charge into those undead bastards, kill all of the vampires, then lead a spearhead straight into the vampire's camp." The King's eyes reflected bloodlust, but before he could sprint forward, Bryce caught him at the shoulder. He turned and looked at Bryce in astonished anger.

"What are you doing, Deathfang?"

"Sire," Bryce spoke quickly, half afraid of dying right then. "I know of that plain. I, being an elf, have lived for hundred of years, and the trees and animals have long spoken of a place where there is an immeasurable amount of dead. This is that place, and, as impossible as it sounds, if we were to join the fight, it would be just what Vladimir wants. If we are not destroyed, then at least our momentum will be lost and we will be worn down until Vladimir releases some other powerful device of his. Let us instead attack the camp of the vampires. They do not sense us, so we may at least begin to charge them before they can react. All of the necromancers are in that base, and they are the ones keeping the skeletons alive. They are weak in battle, and each of them is worth hundreds of undead."

The King only thought for a moment. "How do you know this?"

"I have seen it, Sire." For the first time, the King saw Bryce's empty sockets. Even as the King thought, however, Bryce looked up into the sky and saw disturbing movements of life. Something else was coming, and he did not want to be in the battle when it came. For just a moment he sent out a mental image and got two responses.

'Nightwing, I have a feeling something bad is coming from the sky, could you try to stop it?'

'I'll do my best.' Nightwing was near him, but this way was faster.

'Are you ready Minotaurs?'

'We will charge with you, master.' They had been camped close to the army this entire time, and Bryce had secured royal protection for them.

"Very well, we will attack them, and break Vladimir's deceitful strategy in two. Are you with me, Lyke, Rhave, my people?"

There was a loud response as the hundred first class warriors, the Silver Manes, and the Lycanthropes howled and charged. Out into the open. Once the King passed the barrier, all of the forces were shown, and began running with all of their strength along the rim of the valley. They ran around the battle, and headed straight for the enemy camp.

* * *

Othniel could not hide his pleasure at seeing the werewolves in confusion, trying to fight without and within at the same time. They were already splintered within by the elite force of the vampires, and now the blunt attack of the undead from the outside was proving to be too much. Still, it was far too close of a battle. The werewolves fought like trapped animals, and their ferocity was beginning to overcome their panic of being trapped. They needed one more push to make victory inevitable.

Amazingly, Othniel saw that the Patriarch was thinking the same. He turned to Dimitrious, who had stood by silently for the entirety of the battle, and beckoned him forward. "Dimitrious, are they here?"

Dimitrious walked forward. "Yes, they are all prepared, and they wait only your command, master."

"Have them attack."

Dimitrious looked up and his eyes turned white for a moment, then the sky darkened with clouds, and the moon was completely covered. When it came out again, the clouds were swirling about one another as if caught in a maelstrom. The eye of the storm spun even faster than the rest, and eventually was sucked back from them. When it came back, the entirety of the clouds went away from it, and only a pit of pure darkness was where it had been. Immediately, demons burst from the hole and filled the sky with their red bodies. They flowed forth from the hole at an alarming rate, and once they were in the sky they dived down at the battle below them. The mural of battle soon spun around with a swirl of red from above, and the demons did everything in their power to wreak havoc. They flew with their distorted wings and swung their nefarious weapons about them in abandon, hacking and slashing at will.

Now the werewolves were very hard pressed. They were cracked from within, smashed from without, and harried from above. Almost one thousand had already died, and that meant only four thousand remained. That sounded like a large amount, and indeed it was, but at the same time the werewolves were beginning to be afraid once again. Their morale was beginning to weaken, and an army with no will to fight, be they beast or human, was a defeated army. This battle was going decidedly bad for them.

But it was at that moment that a loud caucus of roars split the air, and the noise of it was almost as tangible as the wave of magic from before. It fell over the werewolf army, and they regained their spirits. They once again began to fight as if nothing were wrong, ripping bodies apart and laughing, even in the face of their untenable position. They knew what would happen, and the vigor of their comrades was a stronger drug than bloodlust. It drove them on greater than any hope. This battle was not over yet.

As if to prove their determination well founded, the group of first classes and other assorted creatures of death were already at least half of the way to the vampires' camp. The vampire camp itself was filled with frantic movement as they tried to prepare for some sort of a defense. It was not long at all before hundred of skeletons began sprouting from the ground in front of them, but nothing was stopping them.

* * *

Despite himself, Bryce was definitely having fun. Although he did think it was too easy, he just could not deny the satisfaction given by mowing through dozen of undead with his sword. All of the others were having as little effort, and some were even laughing. Above them, Nightwing flew and batted demons from the air. They were like gnats to him, and his tail, claws, and head brought many of them to their deaths, but they kept flowing from the portal. With one breath, he blew blackness over a large group of them as he flew by, and when the darkness precipitated, their bodies fell to the ground in pieces.

Honestly, Bryce did not even have to do much, since his loyal Minotaurs had formed a protective circle around him, and they did not even slow as they bashed through the skeletons. None of the werewolves, slowed, and they were almost to the vampires' camp. He could already see the vampires and necromancers scrambling around in panic. This would be a slaughter.

But even as he came within a stone's throw of the camp, figures began falling from the sky among them, landing like small meteorites and wasting no time in startingt to kill. They looked like large Werebats of a sort, and they were insanely strong. One in particular, landed down right on a first class and tore her arms off before grabbing her head and crushing it between his hands. Despite their strength, however, they were few in number, and were outnumbered at least four-to-one by the werewolves' most elite warriors and allies. They could not stop all of them, and none hindered Bryce and his Minotaurs as they continued on.

Just when he began looking for a good target, he saw a huge white form fly up and head into the air. On further inspection, he saw that it was a completely skeletal dragon, and he saw it fly straight for Nightwing and clash with him. Bryce followed the trail of the undead dragon down to one specific necromancer who looked very strange. He wore black, like all of the others, but his face looked more like a skull than anything else. "Looks important." Bryce headed after him instantly.

* * *

Lyke, the leader of the Silver Manes, was having fun, and had to laugh with glee as he shoved his fist into the chest of one of those Werebats and ripped out its heart. It tasted so delicious, and he could feel the thrill of the hunt flow through his entire body. This had to have been his third, and they kept tasting better. They were strong, sure, but he was the leader of a superior group of werewolves, there was no way any bat could destroy him. He was war and death incarnate.

Another bat charged him, but just when it shot forward with help of its wings, he dodged to the side. As the attack went past him, he swung his hand down and cut the arm in two. The bat did not stop, but turned and struck with its other arm, which Lyke grabbed with one of his hands before sending the bat flying back by smashing his palm into its chest. It fell to the ground, and he still held on to its arm for a second before taking a bite from it and throwing it away. Now it had no arms, but it still tried to stand and kick at him. He laughed and stalked towards it, intent on getting his fourth kill of the night, but then another bat stepped between them, and immediately, Lyke knew this was no ordinary one.

"What is your name?" Lyke asked, wiping the blood from his chin.

"N'colto. I am the leader of my people, and I am here to stop your slaughter of them, Luke, leader of the Silver Manes."

Without bothering with a reply, Lyke lunged forward. His knife-like claws led him, like blades pointing at their opponent before goring him. N'colto ducked under the lightning-fast strike and kicked out, shoving its feet claws deep into Lyke's stomach and pulling him towards it with the leverage of the feet. Growling, Lyke grabbed the leg with both hands, digging his claws into it, and picked the bat up and into the air before slamming it to the ground on the other side.

N'colto sprang back and managed to get its leg away from Lyke. Once it was back, it went straight forward again, its right cross catching Lyke off guard and almost breaking his jaw. He had never felt a punch as strong as the one that smashed into him, and for a moment he felt fear, but then he shattered that fear with blind rage. He retaliated and punched N'colto as hard as he could in the gut, causing it to stagger back, then kicked it to the side. N'colto fell to the ground, but was back up instantly. Even as fast as it was, however, Lyke was already above it, and he flashed his fangs as he slammed N'colto to the ground with both of his hands. He was on top of N'colto almost before he knew it, and he began raining blows on it with a speed and ferocity he had never used before. N'colto placed its hands on its head in an attempt to block the attacks with its arms, but Lyke's fists kept coming down with unequaled strength. Soon, a small grave was dug simply from his attacks, and the two of them were several feet under. Still he kept attacking, shouting profanities and unintelligible words of anger. His eyes were completely black, and spit flew from his mouth and pooled on the ground around them.

This bat had tried to challenge him. Him! He was crushing it now, just like all of the others, and just like all those in the future. He would destroy them all. "I will destroy them all!" The roar sounded from his throat.

So intent was he on destroying his opponent, in fact, that he even threw three more punches after his head had been grabbed by N'colto's feet and torn from his body. In the end, however, his headless body fell to the ground, and N'colto, his arms hanging limp by his side and his chest filled with large holes, ripped out his heart with his feet, sitting to eat it. He looked around after his eyes had reformed, and saw that he and his troops had delayed the werewolves just enough. The vampires and necromancers had set up an almost-suitable defense, and now he and his people were done in their task. He called the retreat, and he and ten others, all that was left of his race, flew from battle into the sky. He had seen the problem, and had done his best to solve it. His part was done.

* * *

The weird-looking necromancer must have seen Bryce coming, because as soon as he was within fifty feet of him, skeletons began flowing from him and materializing between the two of them. At first glance, it was obvious that these were not the regular kind of skeletons. They were all deformed in various ways, and it was clear that they would be more dangerous. By the time Bryce and his minotaurs reached them they were fully formed, and the two sides clashed like small armies. At first, the minotaurs burst through the skeletons, although a few were killed by strange traps inside the skeletons, but when they were about halfway, they were slowed, and eventually ground to a halt.

Just like with the larger battle, these skeletons kept flowing from the necromancer, and it seemed that there was only one way to stop them. He grit his fangs, told Brokenhoof to keep fighting, then pulled his large sword from his back and leapt in the air straight at the necromancer. Only then did he notice the last skeleton to emerge, with four bodies, eight legs, eight arms, and four axes. The necromancer smiled and the ribcages of the skeleton's bodies burst apart. Long, whip-like appendages shot from them, with two coming straight at him and two whipping towards him from the side. Bryce ignored the two coming straight, and only grunted when they rammed into his torso. The other two, however, he did have to worry about. He shoved his sword straight down in front of him and held it with both hands and all of his strength. When the two came around, they struck the sword first, and then hit each other with a loud snap.

As planned, the two bone whips simply cut into Bryce's body instead of slicing him in half as the necromancer had obviously intended. While still in the air, Bryce felt his skin harden around the four whips and knew they were held tight. He was about to pull the skeleton towards him when it spun on its axis and yanked him from the air with all of its whips. While reeling him towards it, it let its axes swing wide, and in moments they looked like one long, circular blade around it. Bryce grabbed one of the whips with his hand and spun himself around. His great strength counteracted the taughtness of the whips, and they bent around him as he spun and brought his sword around.

He ended his strange spin just slightly to the side of the skeleton and swung his sword out even as the axes spun towards him. The defining factor of the exchange was Bryce's reach. His arm was longer than theirs, and his sword was far longer, so their bodies were separated from their legs, and all the received was a deeply cut chest. His rib and lung quickly began to heal, however, and he ran at the necromancer, who was at this moment trying to perform an extremely difficult spell. The necromancer saw Bryce as he lunged for him, and in an instant he canceled his spell and spun towards him. His stuck both of his hands out, and spouted off some word right as Bryce pierced him through with his sword. A large force shot through him when he pierced the necromancer, and in that same instant, Bryce felt his chest collapse inside itself.

Still, his heart was fine, as the necromancer had to fire at the last second, and Bryce swiftly overcame the pain to jerk his sword and cut the necromancer almost in half as his weapon left his body. Bryce looked down at the crumpled heap of a man in front of him, then turned to see all of the skeletons he had been fighting, as well as at least six hundred of those in the main battle, fall to the ground and disintegrate. He smiled to himself, a few more of those kills and this battle could turn quite swiftly. It was only then that he looked down and saw a huge hole in his chest. Blood was spurting out from it, and when he bent forward, he could see his beating heart just off to the side.

Even while he looked, though, the flesh began to grow around the troubled area, and Bryce knew that it would only be a minute at most before he was completely healed. He was about to run at the camp again, when he saw something black out of the corner of his eye, and reflexively stepped to the side and brought his sword up to guard. His reflexes served him well, as he felt his sword clash metal with another weapon and saw an Other vampire fly past him. It passed him and stopped only ten feet away. When it turned back, he saw that it looked quite similar to Damian, except that its horns went straight forward then curved back behind its back. It held two swords in its hands, and the look on its face was a mixture of anger and superiority.

It made no change of expression, and spoke nothing, but somehow Bryce knew it was about to attack. Its wings twitched, and then it was right in front of him, swings its swords at him with blinding speed. Bryce quickly backpedaled, knowing that this was short burst, and that the vampire would not be able to keep it up forever. He kept both hands on his sword for greater control, and found that in that stance he did not need very much strength to stop the attacks. Still, even with his greater control and strength, Bryce was hard pressed to keep up with the vampires' double attacks, and it was giving no sign of stopping anytime soon.

Then, in a way Bryce could not understand, the battle went from being fierce to being deadly in the space of two seconds. The vampires swung his swords from both sides at once, and Bryce had to block one with one arm and the other with his blade. He realized once the sword in his arm barely scratched it that the attack was only a fake, and the vampire was crouched low with both of his arms close to his body. He sprung forward, with his sword pointed straight at Bryce's exposed heart. Bryce's arms were too far up to completely block the attack, but he did manage to slap the swords down so that they entered into his stomach.

He could feel them stab through his intestines and break out the other side of his body, but the pain only drove him on. He drew his sword back, reconnected his other hand to the hilt, and swung out in a vicious counter attack. The vampire pulled his blades straight out and leapt back, but it did not count on Bryce leaping after it. While still in flight, the two of them exchanged blows at an astounding rate. This time around, Bryce was able to use most of his power in each of his strikes, and the vampire had to use both of his swords to counter the blows. Had he used all of his power, Bryce knew for a fact that the vampire would not be able to block his strikes, but that would also slow him down, and he knew that the vampire was only waiting for him to give it an opening.

He knew that this vampire was strong, and guessed that, either this was no normal Other vampire, or that all of them were this strong. He seriously hoped that the former was true, as he had many hard fights ahead of him if it was the latter. The wounds in his chest, both in his ribs, the two holes were the whips had stuck him, the two gashes where the other two had cut into him, and the large hole the necromancer had blown in him, hurt, but from some reason the two that had stabbed through his intestines burned like hell. He wondered why they were not healing, or at least starting to, like all of the others, and it was only then that he took a good look at the vampires swords. They were Wolfsbane.

Then their respective leaps ended, and the vampire wasted no energy landing forward and shooting its head straight at Bryce. Its horns came straight at him, and the vampire grinned when he felt the thud of bone meeting snout. When he tried to pull back, however, he could not, and when he frantically swung both of his arms out from both sides, they were caught.

Bryce laughed hollowly, and clamped down his jaws on the horns he had caught in his teeth. His jaw had torn a bit, bit it was healing quickly, and after just a few moments pressure, the horns between his teeth broke apart. Bryce lifted the vampire into the air by his arms, then let go of one and grabbed the other with both of his hands. Using his grip, he slammed the vampire to the ground and got on top of him, pulling his small sword from its sheath as he did. He lifted the blade above the vampire, but then, for the first time, it spoke.

"Wait! I am Darius. I am the general of the vampire armies, and you can ransom me for a great fortune." Even as fear was all over his face, his tail slowly rose from behind Bryce, and a large bone protruded from the tip of it like the stinger of an insect. It aimed itself directly at Bryce's heart, but stopped in its tracks when Damian shoved the sword down into the vampire's head. The head split in half, and the tail fell limply to the ground.

"I am Bryce, vampire slayer, and I don't give a damn." Bryce saw Darius' one last eye widen in surprise before all went dark for the general. Bryce ripped out his heart and ate it as he watched the rest of the battle. The first class werewolves were in the camp already, and were slaughtering at will. Many skeletons were disintegrating from the battlefield as their masters were cut down, but Bryce could still not see where the battle was headed. He let go of his eyes and saw the battle with his other sight. The vampire leaders had wisely amassed their forces in the middle of camp in the time it had taken the werewolves to overrun the werebats, and they were holding their own, at least for the moment. All of those not in the main battle, however, were doomed a very horrible death.

Bryce casually flicked his eyes over the battlefield, and then saw something that made his heart quicken. "E." He whispered. How he wanted to fight alongside his brothers, but at the moment, reverting to any other form would mean his death, and he was only alive now because of the heart he had eaten. His holes were just beginning to really stitch themselves together, and his two stab wounds had not even started. He resolved to wait until he was rested to battle. "Soon my brothers, soon." He swore, as his minotaurs formed a protective circle around him.

* * *

From their elevated position, it was clear that the werewolves were wreaking havoc throughout the vampires' camp, but it was hard to make out quite what was happening. There was general slaughter, as all of the mythically powerful beasts spread from their one point of entry like a plague and, at one point, almost seemed to disperse into singular units. When they all heard one load roar, however, they stopped their bloody revelries and converged towards the middle, where it could be seen that the King and Queen were heading with a group of their best warriors. Further inspection saw Safiria and Vladimir with what appeared to be their personal guards and many militiamen at the center. This moment was exactly what E had been waiting for.

"I'm coming for you, Christine." He whispered.

The captain of the paladins shifted from watching the battle. "What was that, E?"

"Ah," E smiled and shook his head. "Nothing, let's begin our attack."

Both the vampire slayer and the paladin armies charged from their hiding place in the woods and into the clearing. They ran down the slope and prepared to join the battle, as if it could get any more complicated.

As she charged towards the camp, Serenade found herself running right next to Triplecorpse Hammerblow and Jacque. The latter of the two looked over at her and grinned mischievously.

"Have not a care, child. Stay close to us and we will ensure that you escape from this dreadful engagement with your life intact. Is that not correct, Triplecorpse?"

Triplecorpse grunted his reply, and to accentuate his point, he drew his hammer by its head from the leather strap on his back.

Serenade smiled her thanks. "Well, thank you, but I'm no ones prey, and I need no protecting."

Jacque stared at her with a different eye than before, and even Triplecorpse spared at look her way. "Very well lass, have it your way."

Halfway to the battlefield, both armies split in two, with half of each going to the main battle and half heading to the vampires' camp. Serenade was right in the middle, and was about to head to the main fight, but Jacque grabbed her arm and kept her with him. The three of them went straight forward, and eventually they were inside the camp. At first, Serenade saw only a few of the races they were battling, and most of those were dead, but as they got closer to the center of the camp, they became more and more numerous. When they finally burst into the large space at the center, she saw why E and the two men with her had gone here.

The scene before them was a swirling melee of vampires, vampire slayers, paladins, werewolves, skeletons, and demons. They fought with ferocity born of age-old hatred, and the knowledge that whichever side lost would not walk away from this battle. There was no honor in their fights, no duels between warriors, but rather simple carnage. A fighter would vanquish his foe to be impaled from behind by another, who would move on to another and be killed. None were safe, save for the Matriarch and Patriarch. They stood in the middle of the battle, and a large circle of space surrounded them. Whether it was conscious or unconscious, none dared enter that circle, and all fought around it.

Then, however, there was a loud roar, and the amount of first class werewolves in the area greatly increased before the King and Queen entered the clearing. They did not bother with any other fighters, and none were foolish enough to attack them, so they swiftly made their way to the center, where Safiria and Vladimir waited for them. They faced off for just a moment, Vladimir, with still no weapon visible, against the King, who drew a black two-handed axe from his belt; and Safiria, with her fabled silver sword, against the Queen, who held two strange-looking swords. For a moment, they stood motionless, but then as one they moved.

The King leapt forward and lifted his axe into the air with both of his hands. He was right above Vladimir, who did not move until the King brought his weapon down. The axe slammed down with such strength and speed that it seemed like it could cut through the earth itself. Just when it began to go down, however, Vladimir morphed into his Other form, sprouting four wings and numerous horns that curved about his head like an elaborate crown, and suddenly had two objects in his hands. He locked his hands together, and only when they stopped was it obvious that he had two four-pronged hand claws. The axe hit down onto the two hand claws with strength enough to make all feel it, even those only watching, and even though the bars of steel between the axe and Vladimir's hands stopped the blade from cleaving him in half, he was still hard pressed to keep the King from overcoming him. For a moment, they were locked together, but then Vladimir's arms began to slowly lower, and the King grinned.

Vladimir grinned back, and then he was not there. His two hand blades fell to the ground, and after them came the King's axe, which seemed to shake the earth when it hit it. The King looked around and barely saw Vladimir leaping all around. He used his four wings to great advantage, bouncing himself at speeds almost too great for even the king himself to perceive. Vladimir leapt low and slid under the King to grab his strange hand weapons again, and the battle between them began in earnest. The King fought with greater strength than any other before him had, and yet his technique was also to be marveled at. Vladimir fought with speed greater than any other before him had, and although his strength was inferior to the King's, it was not overwhelmingly so.

The battle between Safiria and the Queen was already in place, and the two of them danced together with even more finesse than their consorts had shown. The Queen had shown why her swords looked strange in the first moments when she had jabbed out with both of them and their blades went sailing at Safiria. Her two segmented whip swords had almost taken Safiria by surprise and ended her life there, but she had dodged down and charged forward. Now they battled very close to one another, with Safiria looking like a banner blowing in the wind, or a mountain stream. She never stayed in one position for too long, but constantly shifted into the next strike as if she had seen everything beforehand and knew what move she would be using hours from now. Every attack and defense she used with her single sword looked like it was completely spontaneous, and yet also like she had choreographed it beforehand.

The Queen, who was in her normal form to make full use of her speed, was able to keep up with Safiria and counter her disturbing style with her two whip swords. They wove around her, and she looked to be dancing more than fighting. Sometimes she closed her eyes and just let the swords spin about her in flowing spirals of death broken for moments by swift lines of stabbing motion.

Serenade fought with all of the other normal warriors, but even she could tell that all of the other fighting was only half-serious. They were truly paying attention to the foursome in the middle of them, and any serious fighting was impossible when shown the face of such purely awe-inspiring power.

Then, one other figure entered the circle, and Serenade gasped when she saw that E was there. His large, glowing sword, the Sword of Office, was in his hand, and all of the opponents behind him were disintegrating even before they died. He stared at the battle before him, and then stuck his sword into the air. It pulsed with a powerful light, then sprayed rays almost as powerful as those of the sun over the battle. For just a moment, the entire diorama was brightened until it looked to be day. Those beings of the night closest to him instantly evaporated into air, but the fierce light flowing from the sword momentarily blinded almost all of them, even the humans.

The light ended momentarily, and when it did E ran towards where Vladimir and the King, the only ones save the Queen and Safiria to not be blinded still fought. He swung himself into their fierce battle with abandon, and the already powerful display of a duel became a truly dazzling event of a three-fighter brawl. E fit perfectly into the mix, and he completely countered both of his opponents with his own style. He fought with such perfect technique that he looked like he had come straight out of a teaching manual. Every step, every attack, and every block was executed perfectly, and there was no flaw at all to be found within him. His sword glowed with just enough light to make it hard to watch for long periods of time, and he was almost as fast as Vladimir was.

Had the King and Vladimir chosen to battle E together at that moment, he would have been easily slain, but they did not have to worry only about him and his deadly sword, which had slain many before even cutting them. At every opportunity, they would attack one another, then attack E. The fight could have lasted for years, and Serenade found that she was no longer fighting, but watching them. In fact, the beautiful battle more than likely could have kept her attention even if it had lasted until the ends of time, but at that moment her attention was stolen by two figures walking up to her, Triplecorpse, and Jacque.

The first was a huge, red werewolf, and she recognized it as Blood, the strongest of the generals in the King's army. The second was a small human. He was short even by human standards, and so next to that giant, he looked positively miniscule. They had a single purpose, and they walked up to the three of them with it in mind. Blood spoke first.

"Well, this is lucky for me. You're just the two I wanted to find." He laughed. "We were destined to fight. It was written in the stars, human warrior. Let us continue what we started earlier, only this time I brought along Rhave to make sure that your own friends do not interfere."

Triplecorpse brought his hammer in front of him and saluted. He walked up to meet the gigantic warrior, and while he did, the small man by Blood's side walked past him to form up with Serenade and Jacque. He smiled at the condescending looks they gave him, and spoke. His voice sounded nasally, but there was an undercurrent of ferocity that immediately put Serenade on edge.

"Apparently, neither of you have met a Lycanthrope before. Well, after tonight I'm sure you'll never forget us." His last words were a broken snarl, and he howled as his face broke into a snout. His body soon followed suit, but instead of staying standing, he went of all fours. His hands and feet became paws, and his tailbone protruded into a bushy tail. He had turned into a wolf, which would not have been so bad had he not been six feet from paw to shoulder, four feet from shoulder to shoulder, and fourteen feet from tail to snout.

"Oh, this will be fun." Jacque lied.

* * *

Damian was worried. The plan had sounded perfect inside the pavilion, and at first he had actually believed that they would win the battle and he would live if only he kept to the plan. Now, however, it was obvious that the plan was no longer operative. The werewolves had somehow seen through the immediate battle before them, and had outflanked the vampires. Thanks to their counter offensive, the once-despairing werewolf army was now regaining its morale. Every necromancer slain made dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of skeletons fall lifeless to the ground, and from the looks of the skeletons, the werewolves were cutting necromancers down at a prodigious rate. With the threat of the skeletons lessening, and the attacks of the demons lessened considerably by that weredragon, the werewolves were turning inwards once again. They focused all of their strength on the ten units inside them, and the vampires were feeling the pressure.

Three werewolves with spears ran at Damian, and they took turns consecutively stabbing at him. He stood his ground in the face of their advance, and moved his hands in swift cuts and swats to defeat each of their attacks by slapping the sides, top, and bottom of their shafts and stealing their momentum. When the one on Damian's right took a chance and stabbed out with his spear in one hand, twisting his body and throwing out his arm for full extension, Damian switched from defensive to offensive. He turned his body to the right and slammed the spear's shaft into the other two, stopping them from attacking as well, and then let go of his spear with one hand. His weapon snapped down like a sprung spring, and the blade sliced down the werewolf's face. Its eye was sliced in two, but it was still alive. Disregarding it, Damian faked a lunge at the two left, but then ducked down when they stabbed reflexively. One recovered in time, but the other lagged, and so Damian chose that one and shot himself from his crouched position into its gut. His spear stabbed through its intestines before he pulled it out, stabbed it through a lung, and then slit its throat.

He was inches away from its face as they fell together to the ground, and he saw the light leave its eyes. In those same eyes, however, he saw the last werewolf raising its spear to stab down into him. He quickly rolled off of the werewolf, and waited until he heard the wet thud of the spear entering the body before he got to his feet and ran towards the werewolf, who had stabbed his spear into the spine of the other, and just pulled the spear out when Damian's own entered his body through the collarbone and exited just under the last rib. He knew that the last werewolf, its eye still hanging from one of its sockets, was going to attack him, and he also knew that he would not be able to pull his spear out in time. Still, he calmly put his foot on the shoulder of the werewolf and proceeded to slowly tear the spear from it. The werewolf snarled, but just before it was about to lunge it stiffened, then fell to its knees as Vincent ended his slash to its spine. He stabbed into its back to finish it off just as Damian pulled his spear out.

"Didn't have to save you." Vincent smiled distantly.

"Of course, but you did anyway." Damian wiped his spear on the cloth of the werewolf he had just killed.

Another of the thousands of werewolves charged Vincent from behind, only to have its weapon bashed to the side as he spun around and struck it with his own. He followed by ramming his shield into its face and then pivoting back around and digging his sword into its flesh. Another swung at him with an axe, and he blocked it with his shield before kicking out its knees and stabbing it through the mouth.

After that, for just a moment, there were no werewolves particularly interested in Damian, so he was allowed to give all of his attention to the problem at hand, and that was what they would to about the quickly deteriorating battle. Even as he thought, however, he felt the mental scream inside his mind that meant one of the ten units' circle had been breached. It meant that either werewolves had broken through the outer defenses, or that the vampires' numbers had been so depleted that there was a hole in the middle where the werewolves could finally jump inside and fight from the inside out. Regardless, once the circle of that position was broken, it was only a matter of time before all of the vampires in the unit were caught and slaughtered.

After a quick search through the links in their minds, Damian discovered that it was one of the newest units that had broken, and that their leader had already been slain, which was why the circle had been breached in the first place. Most of the other units were functioning properly, but a few—also the newer ones—were struggling, and one other was already on the verge of collapsing. 'Something must be done.' As if to accentuate his point, the other unit broke apart, and when Damian turned to look he saw its captain take flight in his Other form in an attempt to get away. Unfortunately, a dark shape flew from the ground and latched onto him. The werewolf stayed stuck to him, and as he struggled to gain altitude, another jumped from the ground onto him, then another, and another. Eventually, he sank back to the ground, and his screaming voice was silenced from the connection.

Only eight units were left now, and more and more they were struggling. Even Damian's unit was having problems staying secure, and now he and Vincent were battling fiercely with all of the others in order to keep it that way. The two of them fought in perfect unison, and all of the werewolves that met them fell within seconds. Still, they could not fight the war alone, and even as they killed the last two of a group of five, Damian heard another scream as a third unit was broken. He was shocked when this came through, as it was Julius' unit that had been broken. Julius' voice still echoed in his mind, even though it was clear his unit was being torn apart, but it was obvious that he had only minutes at most before he was torn down by sheer numbers.

The fact that it was an established unit that had fallen, not a new one, shook Damian more than he could understand, and it solidified his resolve to carry out the plan forming in his head. Using his magically-empowered voice, he shouted to his unit.

"Unit seven, position A, but fill it in. Point towards unit eight."

Slowly, the circle his unit was in formed into a lopsided triangle, with the inside filled with warriors. He and Vincent were at the tip of the triangle, and they were pointed straight for Valdivai and her unit. "Fight towards unit eight!" Damian yelled and began moving forward while fighting. He felt his unit moving behind him and eventually he was running forward, paying only minimal attention to those enemies that confronted him. They would charge him constantly, and he would bash them to the side with his spear and dash past them. Some he killed, others he maimed, and some he simply deflected their blows and ran past them, trusting another to finish them. Eventually, the warriors facing him lost their singularity and the flood of fur and steel seemed never ending before him. At some point, he knew not exactly when, his body simply took over. He gave it control, and it reacted to every danger instantly and lethally countering without him even having to think about it.

Just when he began to think that the army of werewolves really was never-ending, the warrior before him was not a werewolf, but a vampire, and Valdivai at that. The two of them exchanged glances as Damian wrested control of his body back to his mind, and she nodded her consent to his plan. Control of her unit was given over to him at that moment.

"Unit eight, join unit seven and head towards unit one!" Just then, a voice flashed over the captains' mind link, it was the captain of the first unit 'No need for that, Damian, focus on saving the other units before heading to mine.'

Damian did not understand why, as the first unit was in the middle of the battle, occupying the lowest of the valley, and was taking the heaviest casualties, but Damian had to obey.

"Fight to unit two!" his voice rang out. By then, the two units were completely merged, and they headed towards Samael and his unit, which was closest. This time, he had Valdivai at his one side as well as Vincent, and they began moving even faster than before. At that moment, Julius' voice was finally silenced. He had been the last of his unit left alive, and he had fought to the death without abandoning his unit. Even with the news that a captain had died, Damian still felt like this battle might actually be turning around. Still, only seven units were left now, and there was little time to try to save them all.

* * *

Othniel and Sophitia were not feeling quite as optimistic as Damian at the moment. Othniel's sharp eyesight had caught the first classes coming far before any others, and he swiftly pointed out the problems to all of the them before proceeding to sight and begin sending out arrows as fast as he could. Though he could see that his arrows were hitting their targets, only one or two of them stumbled, and none fell. Recognizing the futility in his actions, and in those of others who were trying to slow the charge with their own arrows or blasts of magic—or necromancy, he had stopped with at least ten arrows left in his quiver. When the Chiroptera began landing, and for the first time the charge was moderately stalled, Othniel had grabbed Sophitia by the hand and ran back into the packs of tents that compromised their camp.

And now they were still running through the alleys between tents. Apparently, two first class werewolves had caught their scent from before, and were charging behind them. He could hear the werewolves laughing as they easily gained on their prey. The lane they were in ended in about fifty feet, and two split off from it, going left and right. When they reached it, Sophitia grabbed his hand.

"Quick, this way," she gasped while leading him down the left path. The way quickly turned right once, and then ended abruptly. Othniel groaned and spun around, whipping out his bow in the process. His hand shot to his quiver, and for a moment it rested upon his prized possession, an arrow with a tip made from Wolfsbane. In a split-second decision, however, he passed over that arrow and wrapped his fingers around two arrows. He pulled them out and flexed his fingers to their greatest extend to keep the two of them facing straight as he aimed them down his bow. Just as he sighted down it, the first werewolf turned the corner, and he released the two arrows before shooting his hand back and grabbing another.

As he had guessed, the werewolf had one arm in front of its heart, and so one of his arrows stuck into its forearm. It began to laugh, but just then the second arrow buried itself into its left eye, and it bucked back in surprise. For just a moment, it lifted its arm , and Othniel was right there with his eye sighted down the shaft of his Wolfsbane arrow. He let it fly, and it turned over in the air once before passing through the werewolf's ribs and piercing its heart. The werewolf had time to growl as it felt the poison of the mettle course through its blood system, and then it fell to the ground.

Even as it died, however, the second one was leaping past it, and Othniel had no other arrows that could do anything save pain the beast. His basic instincts told him to run, as any prey with any sense would from a predator. Being charged by a being that was made to kill him was completely different than anything he had ever encountered. Always before he had a sense of superiority, or at least had the idea that, as long as he stayed alive for long enough he would be saved. Now, however, there was no chance of that, or of him actually defeating the beast that was attacking him at that moment. His only chance to live was to run; to run, and to hide. To survive.

He almost did run, but then he felt the presence of Sophitia behind him, and he knew that he could not. An instinct greater even than self preservation ran through him, and he drew his sword and dirk. 'I'm not Damian, but I'm not prey either.' He thought.

With a yell, Othniel leapt into the air at the first class. It was obviously surprised by his counter attack, and as such he was able to slash down with both of his weapons across its chest. He landed right in front of it and spun to the side, slashing a line on the front of its leg and coming around to bury his dirk into the side of its stomach. He saw stomach and intestinal juices flow from the wound, but the dirk in its side only served to distract the beast, and when it turned around it was angry. Othniel frantically dodged attacks that could have split him in half, but he knew that he woulds not be able to last very long.

Still, he knew that he could not let up. He had to keep on attacking and dodging, because the moment he stopped he would be dead, and moments after that he knew Sophitia would be dead as well. Just when he began to think of her, however, he saw white begin to flow from behind the werewolf, and knew that she must be doing something. He dodged one more time by rolling to the side, and finally saw what she had spent this time creating. In front of her were lined dozens of werewolf skeletons, and for some reason he just knew that they were the ones they had battled in the forest together.

The werewolf skeletons charged the first class and leapt onto its back and arms and legs. It was unprepared for an attack on this side, and stumbled under their weight. Othniel took this opportunity and lunged forward with his sword pointed directly at the werewolf's heart, but it smashed him away with one hand. He gasped as he felt his ribs crack and break, sending shards into his lungs and heart. When he hit the pole of a tent and fell to the ground, he could already tell that he was dying.

The werewolf could not pursue him, as the many werewolf skeletons had finally succeeded in bearing it to the ground. They pinned it down, and just as Othniel saw Sophitia's guardian walk up to it, activate a ward along the blade of its forearm, and then chop its arm down on the werewolf's neck, he felt the world go black, and his view faded.

'I guess it was worth it, as long as she is safe.' He accepted oblivion, but even when he resigned himself to death, and whatever else it held, he felt the light coming back to him, and when he could see again he saw Sophitia kneeling over him pouring the blood of a first class' heart into his mouth. When the blood was drained, she allowed him to eat the flesh, and he sighed as he felt the increase that surged though his body at becoming first class. He looked up at her face and smiled. She smiled back at him, but it was a moment before he realized that it was not one of her special smiles, and he did not understand exactly why she was smiling like that until she punched him in his still-healing ribcage. He yelled in pain and rolled on the ground until his ribcage was completely healed and he could breathe again.

She rolled him over and looked him in the eyes. "Don't ever use me as your reason for living."

He smiled again. "Damn mindlink." When he stood up, he felt how his body had changed and bounced up in the air a few times before retrieving his weapons. "So this is what first class feels like, huh? Now I've just got to get Damian to show me how to turn all ugly."

Sophitia was busy dismissing her undead minions, and Othniel noticed that she had consumed a first class heart before she had saved him. "Yea, for you that would be an improvement."

Othniel's witty retort was lost when Sophitia clamped her hand over his mouth and shoved him into the side of the tent. He had no idea what was happening until he looked where her eyes were glued and saw another werewolf walking along the lane they had come through. It was obvious that he noticed the dead first class with the arrows in its eye and heart, but he still went right instead. He was a very strange werewolf, as he had to have been a first class, but was in his normal form, and his fur was milky white. He also had a strange translucence, as if he would disappear if one stared at him too long.

Through their mindlink, he heard Sophitia say 'Ghost,' and he suddenly understood and recognized the werewolf sorcerer for what he was. He asked her if they should attack him, and her thoughts hesitated for a moment before she nodded instead of answering. He could tell that she was as scared as he was, but that she knew what they must do.

He quietly pulled an arrow from his quiver and wished that he had removed the Wolfsbane one from the body of the other first class. As it was, he fitted the arrow to his bow, crouched down, and silently turned the corner to see Ghost still slowly walking the opposite direction. Othniel drew the string of the bow back agonizingly slowly, and looked down the shaft of it. He knew that he could hit the old werewolf's heart.

'Now.' Sophitia's thought rang through his brain, and he released the arrow. It shot through the air, and was going directly towards Ghost's heart, but when it was about a foot away the air around him shimmered, and the arrow turned and flew around him before flying into one of the tents. Ghost turned and spoke as Damian gaped at him.

"You did not honestly think that I would come into a major battle without warding myself from foolish assassins who did not know the most basic laws of magic, did you?" His voice sounded like it was echoed back upon itself before reaching the hearer. He did not wait for a response, and even if he did, Othniel was far from capable of an intelligible reply at the moment. With a wave of his hand, green ethereal warriors floated up from the ground and stood in files before him. They were clothed in full battle array, and each had a sword and shield. When about twenty-five had formed, he sent them flowing above the ground towards the two of them.

"I got these thingies," Othniel regained enough poise to say. "Can you take that guy?"

"Not without about ten minutes of preparation." Her voice was shaky, and it was the first time he had seen her without a plan. For once she knew that her opponent was superior to her in every way.

"You know, your plans seem to always include long periods of preparation in which I get the crap beaten out of me." Othniel knew that he did not have enough arrows to kill all of the specters, but even so he shot five at them just to see if they were material. He was relieved to discover that they were, in fact, able to be killed, and smiled when he saw five of them fall through the ground and disappear. Having his courage bolstered, he drew his sword and dirk and charged them. The first one he met swung its sword down, and he, thinking it best to not meet blades with something so weird, ducked to the side and slashed out with his sword. He thought that the armor it wore would probably block the strike, but was surprised when his sword passed through it, only being stopped when it his the apparition's shield.

Cut in two, the ghost slowly faded from sight, and Othniel smiled once again. For once this might be easier than he had thought. As the other surrounded him, however, he soon found that their swords were completely tangible. He was forced to work both of his weapons very quickly to stop or evade all of their attacks, and it was hard work. He was ducking, weaving, blocking, and parrying with all of his skill and new-found strength and speed, but it was not so hard that he was not able to slip in a few slashes with his sword and stabs with his dirk every now and again. He blocked one attack with his sword then stabbed his dirk up under the shield. The length of the blade allowed it to cut into the ethereal being, and it soon faded. Then he turned one attack wide with his dirk, swung his blade but was blocked with the shield, and flipped the blade over to the other side and sliced the apparition from existence from the other direction.

He leapt over three of them, blocking their upward thrusts with his weapons, and stabbed his blades backwards after landing. They cut into two of the three and they disappeared. Before the last one could turn, its head floated above its body before both were gone. He was like a flash of light among them, always moving back and forth, jumping, rolling, lunging, and always killing at least one of them with every movement. He attacked with wild abandon, and he never seemed to stop, they also kept coming, but he could take them.

Sophitia was having a far harder time, on the other hand. To her credit, she was battling the greatest mage of the werewolves, and he gave her not a moments' rest to collect herself or summon her guardian. She was being forced to fight with only battle or defense spells rather than necromantic ones, which were her specialty, and every spell she cast was almost immediately dispelled and countered with a spell so powerful she could not dispel it until it was moments away from her. Several times she literally had to leap out of the way of a spell that was either too powerful or too obscure for her to find the counter spell for. She was obviously losing.

Still, every moment he was battling her was one he could not use to bolster his troops that were fighting—and losing to—Othniel, which he did often enough as it was. Whenever he did, however, she would quickly animate some skeletons and send them at him from different angles, which would force him to spend a spell on each of them and give her some time to think of spells or just rest. It was just after one of those moments, as she took a second to rest, that a thought hit her, and she figured that it just might work.

When Ghost turned his attention back to her, she dropped to one knee and shoved one palm onto the ground, sending a rumbling crack in the earth towards him, then stood as high as she could and threw her other hand into the air. A spark flew from her hand and into the clouds, causing a single bolt of lighting to fly down at Ghost. Then, as the last part, she placed both of her hands together and shot a bolt of black lightning from them with as much strength as she could muster. For his part, Ghost contemptuously redirected the small split in the ground, but then only barely was able to turn his attention up to the lighting bolt and split it in half. The bolt flew on both sides of him and struck the ground, but the bright light from it against his pupils blinded him for just a moment, and when his eyesight came back it was not sharp enough to catch the black lighting until it broke through one of his wards and slammed into him.

Sophitia smiled in relief when she saw him fly back, but groaned when he got up almost instantly. It had been a good idea, but it would not work twice, and now he was certainly angry. With one hand, he sent a flowing stream of ice towards her, and with the other he condensed the ten spirits left into three. These three looked the same, but they were much faster and stronger than before, and Othniel soon discovered that now their armor was solid. His sword clanged against it, and he sighed when he noticed that now their armor covered every inch of them.

Strangely, the tables had now turned on both battles. Sophitia was finally holding her own, if not gaining the upper hand, and Othniel was having trouble. The three warriors attacks in unison, but with completely different fighting styles, and since his sword and dirk could not penetrate their armor, he could only keep blocking and dodging. While he struggled, Sophitia was doing far better than before. Ghost was obviously drained by getting hit, putting up a new ward, and condensing those warriors, and Sophitia gave not a second of rest. She rode him mercilessly, and sent many of her best battle spells at him while forming one behind her back. He still blocked her spells, but now it was at the last second, and he was clearly on the defensive. He only got off two spells back at her, and they were halfhearted. Then her spell was done, and she sent a green mist floating towards Othniel. It flowed through the air, and then finally formed around his dirk.

Othniel thought that he understood what was going on, and when the three of them attacked once again he lunged past two of them, slapped the third's attack to the side with his sword, and then stabbed out with his dirk. The enchanted blade slipped through the armor of the specter, and after a moment it dissipated. Othniel grinned. The other two attacked him, but he spun out of the way, brought his dirk around, and lopped off the sword hand of the one closest to him. It turned and thrust out its shield at his face, but he ducked under and chopped off its leg, then came up and cut it in half from groin to head. He took great pleasure in seeing its two halves float away. Only one left alive.

Ghost had his wind back now, and the moment Sophitia had sent the spell towards Othniel he had launched his counter-offensive. It was obvious that he was back to normal, and now Sophitia was slightly drained from her last spell, which meant a lot in a battle of magic. The battle was becoming one-sided once again. She shot blue all over her hands and redirected a fireball from him before shooting the blue out of her hands as streams of pressured water at him. He made what looked like a curved shield, and the water hit it and was deflected to the side along with the curve of the shield.

Ghost smiled after that and stuck both hands in front of him, with his palms open and his fingers splayed about. A chill ran though Sophitia's spine as she recognized the spell he was about to perform, and her knowledge was the only thing that saved her as she threw up a wall of complete darkness in front of her just in time for rays of pure light to flow form his hands and shoot towards her at speeds faster than the mind can comprehend. The light hit the wall of darkness and was absorbed by it, but Ghost did not stop his spell. He kept spewing forth light, and that made Sophitia keep her wall of darkness up. She realized what he was doing too late. He was making a bid for victory out of pure magical power. If he ran out of magic first, she would be saved, but if she ran out first and her wall came down, she would immediately be turned to dust. In the back of her mind, she knew that making that much light for combat purposes at night was far more taxing than darkness, but somehow she also knew that Ghost would not run out first, no matter what. She was doomed.

Othniel was still fighting the last specter when burst of light filled the alley, and he was extremely lucky to not be in it when it hit. As it was, he still covered his eyes in pain and threw himself away from his opponent. He opened his eyes just in time to block a blow at his head. The specter swiftly pulled its sword away and stabbed Othniel in the side of the stomach. The sword went through him and spit into the ground beneath, but then it was stuck. Othniel looked at the wound and laughed before using his dirk to chop off the specter's arm. It then followed with the predictable shield smash, which hit him in the ribs, and only made him laugh more.

"Is that really all you can do?!" He laughed, dropped his sword, grabbed the tip of the shield, and pulled it away while getting to his feet and slashing the ethereal warrior out of existence. After it faded from view, he looked and saw the predicament Sophitia was in. his eyes burned just from looking at the light, and he could not imagine the strain she was going through to keep the wall up. His first thought was to go for his bow, but then he realized that, with all of the wards that werewolf had, it would be as useless as before. Then he looked down at his dirk, which still glowed green, and an evil grin stretched across his face.

He looked at Ghost, measured the distance in his mind, then took two steps back. He held his dirk in one hand and drew it behind his head. He was about to throw it when he realized that he did not have something funny, witty, or epic to say when he did, and that gave him pause. He simply could not think of throwing it and not saying something good, but nothing was coming to him.

'Just throw it!' Sophitia's thought thundered in his mind, and on reflex more than anything else, he took one step forward, pivoted his entire body, and launched the dirk toward Ghost. It went end over end, but, just like he had anticipated, when it reached a foot away from Ghost the blade was just beginning to face him. The wards around all glowed, and the multicolored lights were quite beautiful, but the green dirk cut through them like fabric. Ghost only had time to turn in alarm at seeing his wards breached, and then the dirk stabbed into him. It missed his heart by inches, but since he was in his normal form, it was still mortal, and he coughed blood when he reached over and pulled the dirk from him.

"Very good." He gagged as he threw the dirk to the ground and then vanished in a mist.

Sophitia collapsed to the ground, exhausted, and Othniel retrieved his dirk, which no longer had the green enchantment on it, before looking down to see the sword and shield wounds on his body.

"Oh yea!" He yelled in exultation. "That was totally my victory, all the way!" He broke out into a ridiculous little dance after sheathing his weapons.

"Hah!" Sophitia laughed between long breaths. "you never would have been...able to do anything...without me."

"Aw come on. First I put the beat down to like, thirty ghosts, then I killed those three super ghosts, and then I capped ol' Ghost himself with my dirk from like, twenty feet away. If that's not my victory, then I dunno' what is."

"All of which you could not have done without me taking the brunt of the attacks and giving you that spell on your dirk." She was feeling better already, and went to examine where Ghost had been. "and I don't think he's dead."

"Yea, how does it feel to be in my shoes for once," he quipped as he went back and pushed his Wolfsbane arrow through the first class before taking it from its back. "For once you took the pain and I was the one who saved you." He barely seemed to notice the bleeding hole in his side and the rough bruise along his chest in his elation.

"Idiot." She shook her head, but that was to hide her smile. 'He really did good this time. I owe him my life, and that protective bit was rather sweet.'

"Thank you, I owe you mine too." She jerked her head up to see Othniel smiling, and for the first time in many, many years, she blushed.


	23. Climax of Betrayal

23

Climax of Betrayal

"Finally," Damian heard Vincent say from next to him as he cut the forearms off of an opponent who was attacking with an ax then cut open his chest. "This battle is beginning to look good."

It had taken far longer than Damian would have liked, but he had to agree. His unit and unit Eight had succeeded in reconnecting with all of the others save the First, which was still fighting on its own, the Third, which Julius had valiantly defended, and the Ninth and Tenth, which had regrettably been given to new captains to command and had been destroyed. As it was, the second, fourth, fifth, and sixth were with the seventh and eighth at about the middle of the battlefield. The six units had formed into one large circle, and were finally beginning to hold their own against the hordes of werewolves that still surrounded them. Each of the six remaining captains had taken over a section of the circle, and every now and again, Damian was able to see them in their element. He saw Valdivai, with her kama-like weapons, dispose of enemies with speed and efficiency. She would block any attack, no matter how strong, with only one weapon, then stick the blade of the other into her opponent. Within seconds, she was whipping her weapons around with blinding speed, and leaving holes all over her opponent, until it fell to the ground. She could even take on three or four opponent with just as much ease, and did so often.

Then there was Bilal, who used his large broadsword with the countless blades grafted into it to fight his opponents with immaculate skill. It was as if each weapon that attacked him, and from each angle that it did, called for a specific amount of spins, twists, and pulls before it was out of its owner's hands and on the ground. Whether axes, hammers, maces, swords, spears, or any other weapon imaginable, none was able to attack twice. Once the blades met, his opponents' weapons were immediately caught inside his web, where it was worked, cajoled, twisted, and finally pulled to the ground. And once they lost their weapons, his opponents only had seconds of life left on this earth.

Diana, with her blade at the end of a whip, was no less impressive, and it was those who fought her that seemed more like victims than real warriors. She could slay several fighters from over fifteen feet away, and yet also be able to battle any that were close to her also. All that were foolish enough to block her whip soon felt it swing around their sword, and then felt her blade in their back. Any who threw themselves to the ground soon discovered her unique amount of control over her weapon as it arced up, then down, and gored them with the tip of the blade. In short, there was no escape from her.

And, of course, Samael was the angel of death amongst the ranks of the werewolves. Sometimes he would fly from place to place and slay any he met, while other times he would simply stand in one place and kill all that came for him with his large bent metal pole with the spike in it. Most of the time, however, he was seeking out first class werewolves who were either placed in the main army to make their presence known or who had joined from the battle in the camp. He was drawn to them like a moth to flame, and whenever he found one his wings would buzz in elation, and he would cut a swathe of death until he found them. Their battles were always epic, but in the end, it was Samael who devoured his opponent.

Still, even with all of those theatrical fighters, it was Ezekiel who caught Damian's attention most when he saw him battle. He held his small metal stick in one hand, with his hand closed around it in a fist. He never met an opponent's attack, but always either flowed around them or blocked them at the arm before attacking back with his fist. Every time he struck, those taking his attacks were staggered like they had been hit with a crossbow, and when he had struck them three or four times, they crumpled to the floor like rag dolls. Sometimes, when he felt it necessary, he would shift the stick farther to one side, so that one pointed end stuck out inches past, and would stick it into a werewolf, causing it to fall with only one blow. His left hand, when not assisting his right in damaging an opponent, was usually casting some devastating spell at clumps of enemies.

Still, even with these amazing fighters, and with the unity of the six units, Damian knew that their chances of winning were slim. The skeletons were getting less and less numerous, with their conjurors either dying or giving their attention to fighting the first classes, and the demons were still stuck fighting the weredragon. The large circle he was in and the far smaller one that was the first unit, were the last remaining organized force the vampires had on this battlefield, and to top off all of his troubles, the vampire slayers and paladins were battling around them as well.

Even as he thought this, however, the flow of demons still being spewed forth from the tear in the sky increased exponentially. It was almost as if some power knew it was needed now, and the amount of demons coming to their aid could barely fit through the hole in the sky. The weredragon tried with all of its strength to hold back the flood, but eventually it was completely covered with demons, who hacked at it with their crude weapons. With the weredragon out of the way, the demons were free to harry the werewolves as they saw fit. They would obviously not be able to win the war on their own, but they would be able to demoralize them and give the beleaguered vampires a much-needed respite.

Sensing the shift, Damian's unit, and also all of the others, began to expand their circle. They fought with renewed vigor, now that there was at least some end in sight, and slowly but surely, the circle began to grow, with the werewolves inching backwards. The demonic troops attack from the air, and also landed and fought in groups wherever they thought they were needed.

For their part, the werewolves, confused by the attacks from the air, by the offensive of the vampires within them, and also by the vampire slayers and paladins, began to fall back, but only for a moment. Soon they were fighting just as fiercely as ever, and the vampires' advance ground to a halt. Very quickly, the battle became a stalemate, with neither side being able to force the other back, but still battling as savagely as ever. Many died on both sides, and their bodies were stepped upon and over as the battle line shifted back and forth ever so slightly.

Across his section of the circle, Damian was in his element. Any who met him in combat met a swift death, and he shot back and forth across his area like a wraith in the night. He never stayed in any one area for too long, but just long enough to make sure that his kill was complete, and then slipped off to find another skirmish. Many of the werewolves and vampires in the battle could have sworn that they had seen the reaper himself standing behind Damian wherever he went.

It was during one of those skirmishes that Damian felt more than saw a shadow on his back. He leapt to the side, and landed with a roll, just in time to see Stragath, the general of the demons, crash down where he had been moments before. The demon rolled his head over and stared at Damian.

"What a shame, now I'm going to have to do this the hard way," he hissed and smiled, showing rows of fangs.

Damian was not very surprised. "Dimitrious?"

Stragath pivoted his body to face him. "Yes, you are to be executed. You should have known that putting a cross on his forehead, however hilarious I may find it, would not go unpunished."

Several vampires, having seen the attack on Damian, ran to his side to help him, but Stragath snapped at them in a voice that brooked no disagreement. "I am carrying out orders from Dimitrious himself! Do you presume to challenge his will?"

His words stopped them all in their tracks, and as one they gave Damian apologetic looks and turned back to fighting furrier foes. Damian could hardly blame them, and so he did not. At the moment, he took all thoughts from his mind save those of his opponent. Stragath still looked remarkably like an Other form vampire, save that he was red and possessed no wings. He stood at twelve feet or so, and the demonic spikes that littered his body glistened in the moonlight. Most of them were already red with blood.

"Come then," Damian held his spear in front of him. "It would be a shame to disappoint your master."

Stragath chuckled. "Please, that worm of a vampire is nothing to my real master. My master is simply, for some reason beyond me, giving the worm some temporary control over me."

"Hmm, well then, shall we?" Damian found the information interesting, but decided to not dwell on it at the moment.

Another chuckle. "Again, please. You have been fighting for hours, and I am fresh. You stand no chance."

"Then this should be no problem for you."

"Oh, it won't be." Stragath flexed his entire body as if he were struggling greatly. His toe and finger claws shot out to the length of knives, and he growled as more spikes grew from his tail and, with one final roar, one large one burst from his forehead. "Now, Damian, I'll be bringing you back with me to my master's realm."

Just then, however, a roar was heard from the side, and both Damian and Stragath looked there to see a first class werewolf smash its way through its own ranks and then through that of the vampires until it stood before Damian. Damian did not recognize it until it spoke, and when it did his eyes widened in surprise.

"Hello again, Damian." It was the last handmaiden of the Queen's. The one that had almost been raped. Her name was Lupin. "I've been waiting to kill you, ever since that idiot Deathfang let you live. You bastard."

Damian looked from one opponent to the other, and calculated just what it would take to kill both of them simultaneously, but before he could conclude that it was impossible, he saw a vampire break from the ranks of his own and run to stand next to him. He did not need to see his face to recognize him.

"Do you not care that you are ignoring an edict from Dimitrious, Vincent." He had to smile.

Vincent was panting slightly, and Damian could tell that he was a ways away when he saw Stragath attack Damian. "Who? Listen, I'm not doing this for you. I just wanna' get me a first class, and they've been really scarce for some reason. So, I'll kill the wolf, and you can get the demon. Okay?"

"Thank you, friend." Damian chuckled. "Careful, she is very angry at me, and probably at you too, now that she knows you're with me."

"Who cares." Vincent stalked towards Lupine with his weapons out.

Then the demon shot forward, trying to take advantage of Damian paying attention to Vincent. Damian ducked under his hand strike, the knife-like finger claws passing inches over his head, but then he saw the elbow blade heading straight at him and had to bend over backwards in order to get his head out of the way. He watched it pass him by, and then saw Stragath smile before shoving his knee spike up into Damian's back. Damian cried out in pain, jumped to the side, spinning body off of the spike, and fell to the ground. Luckily, the spike had missed his spine, and so had only pierced a kidney.

He rolled to the side as Stragath's tail came smashing into where he had been, and when it came away, four furrows were left in the ground from the spikes. Snatching his spear from the ground, he settled back into his stance and checked the hole in his side. It was very large, and he could see and feel the blood gushing from it onto his clothing and the ground. Stragath saw the blood too, and grinned.

He was charging Damian again, and when he reached him he attacked with everything at his disposal. Every punch turned into an elbow slice, and when he shoved his bladed knees at Damian, his spiked feet followed seconds after. After every five or so strikes, he would swing his tail around and slap or smash, depending on what was the most effective, with the bones on it, and several times he actually rammed is head down in an attempt at goring his opponent. When he spun, he would lead with his tail, whipping it around in a deadly circle, then follow with a slicing back-elbow strike, which turned into a hand slash. When that was over, he would twist his body around and thrust his horn forward with all of his might, then continue the spin with a knee stab and end by kicking the leg straight out and trying to disembowel his opponent with his toe claws. That was all in only one spin, which took seconds at most. Just fighting with his hand and feet blades alone, he would be an intensely dangerous opponent, but his body was literally covered with weapons, and he used them all to maximum effect.

For his part, Damian did his best to survive all of the numerous attacks that were sent his way. He had learned from the very first encounter to never be flat-footed, and this served him well as he desperately tried to survive the onslaught. He spun his spear back and forth with his hands in the middle and sometimes slapped attacks out of the way, but more often put all of his force behind them and used the connection his spear had with his opponent to move his own body out of the way of the attack.

He would slap the straight punches and kicks just slightly to the side and let them pass by, and would use the middle of the staff to redirect the knees and elbows over or under him while moving his entire entire body accordingly against it. For the tail swipes, he would brace himself and take them outright with both hands on his spear, and for the headbutts he had no choice save to dodge back, under, or to the side. It was a strange experience, fighting Stragath, as it was almost like fighting one of those turning posts with the sticks in them, save that he had far more blades bristling from his body, and that he could spin, lunge, and attack with impunity. Of course, as a natural reaction to blocking with a bladed weapon, Stragath was bleeding in several areas, and once Damian had almost slashed his neck when he headbutted, but those losses of blood were far from serious, and barely phased him.

Damian flowed around Stragath's attacks with the finesse of a dancer, and any spectators would have been amazed by his litheness, but every move he made agitated the hole in his side, and it slowed his movements more and more as the fight dragged on. He was still able to keep up with Stragath's bizarre fighting style for a while, as he weaved and wound his way around attacks and sometimes simply blocked them outright, but eventually he slowed down too much, and Stragath laughed when he saw an opening and stabbed Damian through the torso in the exact same place he had impaled him before.

Damian grimaced in pain and faltered, which gave Stragath the perfect opportunity to pull back his head, hunch his body, and shove his horn right at Damian's chest. In the moment he had to react or die, Damian twisted his wrist, sending his spear into both hands, then rammed it into the crook above the horn where its base met the demon's forehead. He let his feet go limp, and allowed the immense strength of the attack to blow him back, into the air, and then land him of the ground in almost the exact same position he had been in, save that his chest had a small flood of red flowing down it where the horn had stabbed into him despite all of his best efforts.

Instead of attacking again, Stragath stood back for a moment and smiled once again.

"Go on Damian, I know that you can use your Other form. You're famous for it. Go into it, regenerate those holes, and fight me like the demon we both know you are. You'll die if you don't."

The fact that Stragath knew about that was secondary to the screaming of Damian's psyche for him to Turn. His body screamed at him in self defense. It knew that his stabbing would prove fatal unless he Turned. His mind screamed at him in outrage. It knew that he he could defeat the one who had done this to him if only he Turned. For a moment, his skin even began to turn red, and his stature raised, but then he shrunk back down, and changed back into the shape of a vampire as his will took control back. He took a breath, and stood straight.

"My life is not worth saving, and least of all by becoming like you." He said as he set his jaw against the pain and tried to think of a way to kill the demon before him. 'There is only one way, and that is to die.' He knew that his words were truth, and yet he embraced them. 'Yes, that is the only way, so be it.'

With a yell, he pivoted forward and threw his spear as hard as he could straight at Stragath. The demon had expected nothing, and he could only put up his arms in defense of his face and grunt as the shaft stuck into his stomach. He pulled it out and threw it away, but then Damian was right there with his sword. He swung it with supernatural speed, and it was all Stragath could do to shift his body to the side and avoid the slash.

Just as fast, Damian took a step forward and swung from the other side, and Stragath had to throw himself to the side once again in order to keep himself from being disemboweled. He took the opportunity to lash out his tail and slam it into Damian's side. He could see one of the spikes through the hole already left in Damian, but Damian did not stop. He ran forward and kept swinging. His attacks were so fast and numerous that, to Stragath, the sword looked only like a flash, and he had to keep stepping, shifting, and leaping back in order to stay alive. About every other time he dodged, he would counter attack, but no matter how much he stabbed Damian through, he never stopped.

"Do not be a fool Damian." Stragath panted while frantically dodging out of the way of more slashes. "You'll die if you keep this up."

"I do not care, as long as I can take you to Hell with me." Damian growled through his seemingly endless assault, and his constant steps and slashes backed up his words.

Then, for a reason Stragath did not understand, Damian's sword passed into his stomach, and blood came away with it when he finished the swing. It was only a scratch, but the next one was deeper, and Stragath's eyes widened with the idea that he might actually die then and there. The next one made it all the way through the skin and even cut a little into the muscle, and at that moment Stragath swore that he saw a dark cowled figure behind Damian. It looked at him from under its hood with glowing eyes, and then it was gone, and Stragath's own eyes widened in fear. The next slash cut through his abdominal muscles, and he realized that if he did not do something, he would be dead before Damian bled out. The thought put him into a panic like he had never known, and instinctively his wings began to form behind his back. Just as they finished, Damian's sword cut through his muscles and started to make its way into his stomach cavity.

The pain and fear that boiled inside Stragath made him do what he would not normally have. He turned his back on his enemy and leapt into the air, beating his wings frantically. Even as he got into the air, however, and thought he would live, he felt a sharp pain in his thigh, and he was bogged down by a weight. When he looked down, he saw Damian holding onto a long knife which he had stuck into his thigh. Seeing him there, after just believing himself to be safe, made Stragath snap. He screamed unintelligibly and begin to shake his leg and kick with his other while slapping his tail back and forth in an attempt to dislodge his pursuer.

His panic-driven attacks backfired, however, as Damian let go of the knife, grabbed onto one of his ankles, and, when he recoiled, used it as a spring to throw himself upward. For one strange moment, Damian hung in midair, barely passing by Stragath's swinging tail, and almost seemed to be falling away and behind him, but then he landed on Stragath's back, pulled his boot knife out, yanked Stragath's head back by the horn, and slit his throat.

"N-No!" Stragath gurgled, as he felt the wetness of his own blood as it ran down his chest. Then he lost all connection to the world, and his wings ceased to beat. The two of them began to plummet to the ground, and Damian passed out from blood loss. It was good for him that he did, too, since he would not have liked the landing.

* * *

Vincent saw Damian fall, but he was in no position to do anything about it, had he been inclined to save him. At the moment, he was locked in a battle that could claim his life at any moment. He was in his Other form, and had cast his shield to the side, as it was too small for him, but kept his sword with him. It had never been a longsword, and now it was more like a long knife in his hand. Luckily, he knew how to fight with a knife, as any self-respecting bandit would. Even with his knife fighting abilities, though, he had only gotten in a few attacks since the fight had started, and those that wounded the first class werewolf he battled were superficial.

He realized now, as they fought back and forth, her with her claws and he with his knife, that he should have saved his Other form for when he could have used it to its greatest advantage. He had started off with it thinking that it would surprise his opponent, and it had, but that had been worth about one strike, and had been his only good one of the battle. Even now her snout was matted with the blood from the line on it where he had grazed her. Still, from then on she was completely on her guard, and her hand-to-hand skills were quite impressive. She must have known some kind of martial art, or something, because she had not closed her fists since the beginning of the fight.

Still, Vincent was glad that the fight was still relatively even, and the bruises he had were equaled by her cuts. 'I just hope she doesn't find out,' He thought desperately as he lunged forward again. He led with a stab with his right hand, but anticipated her turning his arm aside with her hand, and followed with a kick to her chest. She caught the side of his ankle with her other hand and spun her body out of the way while moving his kick away from her. Before he could even finish the kick, she was behind him, and stabbed him twice with her claws then chopped him once with her open hand. He swiftly slashed his knife towards her while pivoting his upper body towards her, and snapped his wing into her face just as she was about to block it. As it was, he scored another small gash across her ribs.

He felt the grate of metal on bone, and saw her grimace with it as well. She let one foot leave the ground as she round kicked him with all of the force of a falling tree. Had he tried to block it, his forearms would have lost their feeling, but he had figured out by now to not get hit by those. He ducked down, and was even able to lightly slash the bottom of her leg. Unfortunately, he was still ducked when her foot touched ground and she sent it immediately back in a side kick that caught him in the ribs and sent him flying back. He caught himself with his wings and sent himself back forward again. When he was within range, she sent out another side kick to use his momentum against him and stop him, but he was able to turn his wings around and send himself backwards before heading forward again.

He was inside her guard, and his knife was headed straight towards her heart. He even thought that it would make it, but then her arm was in the way, and in the end his blade was sent upwards. He did manage a nice gash on her forearm, but after that she grabbed his arm with hers, pulled him close, and then slammed her elbow into his face, raked her claws across his chest, and finally pulled him down and kneed him in the face. She kept hold of him, and began throwing knee after knee into him. Each blow felt like a hammer was being slammed into him, but Vincent had been waiting for an opportunity like this.

He had noticed, in his fighting, that werewolves in general, but most especially, first class werewolves, had a kind of disregard of being hit. Unless they perceived the weapon as being able to kill them, like Wolfsbane, they would allow themselves to be attacked basically anywhere they would not be killed in. Their healing factor would save them from basically any wound, unless it was one that could kill them instantly, and they had come to depend on it. Because of their healing factor, they fought with abandon. They scarcely cared if they were slashed or stabbed, as long as they could destroy their opponent, little scratches were nothing.

Even this one, with her careful fighting style, allowed herself to be attacked far more than any normal warrior would, and Vincent had not let that fact escape. He even spared himself a smile, as her knees smashed his face, and he could not help but chuckle as he raised his knife and plunged it into her side. He was not able to reach her heart, but he was able to get to the side and in between her ribs. He had missed the lungs, but that had been enough, and then he stabbed her in the leg and pushed as hard as he could so that he could get away. When they disengaged, he smiled at her face, which betrayed nothing. 'She doesn't know.'

She charged forward, but then faltered, and began to hold her side. When she brought her hand away from the wound she found new blood, not caked blood from a healed wound, but newly lost blood. Just then, she looked over her body and realized that every wound Vincent had given her was still bleeding, and that her high tolerance for pain had blinded her to that fact. She stared at his sword, and saw that it was only silver, which should not be able to retard her healing factor in this form. He saw her unbelieving face, and spared her just a small explanation.

"If you were a vampire, you'd be dead already, and you would have noticed from the first slash, but it seems that holy water doesn't make werewolves disintegrate, it just retards your healing process, no matter how powerful you are."

"Bastard!" Despite all of her mental conditioning, Lupin felt her anger overflowing and blowing past all of her carefully-erected barriers. She felt white rage at this sneaky vampire, who was an accomplice to those others, overcome all of her senses, and in another moment, she went feral. She let out a roar as her physique was bolstered and her eyes went completely black. She crouched for a moment and sprang at Vincent, who simply stuck his knife out and let her impale herself on it. She survived long enough to slash him once more on the chest, but then the light left her eyes, and she was dead.

Vincent pushed her off of him, rolled her over, reverted to his normal form, pulled out her heart, and paused a moment before finally consuming it. He felt his wounds close, and felt his perception of the world around him change ever so slightly, like when one wears shaded glasses and then takes them off. He knew the changes his body was going through, and also knew that now he was at the top. For a moment he thought of finding Damian and either rescuing him or killing him, but then he shrugged.

"Ah, he can take care of himself." He then picked up his shield and ran back into the fighting.

* * *

"Now you die!" Blood roared as he drew his gigantic two-handed sword from its sheath and charged at Triplecorpse with it held high above his head. Triplecorpse made no reply, save to hold his hammer ready and to deepen his stance a fraction. When he reached him, Blood released one final mighty roar and swung his sword down with all of his might. Triplecorpse responded by swinging his hammer underhanded straight up. When the head of his hammer clashed with the blade of Blood's sword, there was a resounding crash, and a wave of energy flowed from the connection between the two weapons. Blood pulled away and swung from the right side, and his sword seemed to slice through the air itself in its transit, but it was stopped prematurely by Triplecorpe's hammer once again when he swung from the opposite side.

They just kept swinging at one another, in a bid to overcome the other. They cared nothing for finesse, speed, or skill, but placed all of their attention on pure, unadulterated strength. Any of their blows could have shattered stones, but on and on they fought, with neither stepping back or ever faltering. Power flowed from every clash between their mighty weapons, and the waves of it filled the area around them, charging the combatants to fight to new heights of violence. Even though they battled with unimaginable power, and their muscles strained and bulged with every hit, it was apparent that their skirmish would not be finished any time soon.

Linda and Jacques were having a hard time with their strange opponent. In the first moment of the battle, Linda had pulled out the bow Bryce had given her and buried a silver-tipped arrow almost to the feathers into its right eye. If Rhave felt the barb, it gave no indication save a snarl and to begin its charge towards them. Jacques had then proceeded to fling all of his extensive collection of throwing daggers into its hide, but that also had almost no effect. Rhave looked like a pin cushion, but it still kept charging.

"Humans, daring to stand to me." Rhave's voice was so bestial that it was almost unintelligible. "I will feast on you."

He moved in straight line as if to charge Serenade, but at the last second it spun and lunged at Jacques with blinding speed. Serenade saw Jacques tense up in surprise and fear at the sudden change. He looked petrified.

"Move Jacques!" She desperately screamed, but as Rhave sped towards him, he did nothing but stand and stare.

"Good," Rhave snarled in exaltation. "Stay still. It will all be over soon."

Just when it lunged towards him, however, with its claws and jaw out to attack, a smile crossed Jacques face. He ducked under the large canine and dropped a small ball onto the ground where he had been. When the lycanthrope landed, the small ball flashed, releasing a large volume of smoke into the air. The billowing cloud with its tendrils of darker smoke overtook both Jacques and Rhave, and Serenade could not see anything inside the gray sphere. It was almost as if the two of them had vanished, but then a blast shook the ground around her, and she saw Jacques fling himself from the darkness, quickly followed by a large flare of fire as the fireballs he had cast exploded.

He rolled from his flight, and came back up with a jump and bow back towards the cloud, which was being dissipated due to the concussive force of the blast.

"Is he dead?" Serenade could not see inside the murkiness just yet.

Jacques stopped in mid-bow and looked contemplative. "I did not linger a sufficient amount of time to officiate his demise, but I am rather cer—"

His words were cut off by a roar filled with pain and anger from the cloud, and just then it cleared enough for them to see Rhave, his fur in patches, and some parts of him still on fire, burst from it and race to Jacques. This time, Jacques was legitimately surprised, and in a moment the wolf was upon him. He reflexively leapt back, which alone saved him from being beheaded by the snapping jaws, and somehow managed to pull his saber from its sheath and slash both arms when their claws lashed out at him. His blade met the soft fur, but the sinewy muscles underneath them were so taught that his blade only went centimeters into them. Even though he was able to block them, however, the next strikes came immediately after those, and just as Jacques was landing from his jump.

Jacques was forced to slash violently at the wolf's face before rolling back to make it pause and get away from its vicious claws. He was successful in avoiding the claws, but instead of rearing away from the blade, Rhave let it slash across its snout and kept moving forward and slashing. Its position would have almost looked comical, had not Jacques been in mortal peril, as it was standing on its two back paws and slashing with its front ones. Its balance was totally forward, and it would have fallen down had it not kept moving forward. With this, it was able to constantly attack Jacques without fear of a counter, since its vitals were so far away from him, and the only vital close, its brain, was guarded by its teeth.

The result of its dangerous attacks was that Jacques had to constantly move backwards and work his sword back and forth blocking its constant claws strikes and dodging its snapping jaws, as nothing could block those. Even though he was able to block every attack that came, and was even able to do it at the flesh level rather than at the claws, Jacques felt the despair that came with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to get out of this situation. Any feat of martial or acrobatic prowess would end in his capture and death at the claws of this infernal animal, and the only thing he could do to stay alive was to step back and work his fastest to block and evade everything.

He was almost at the point of giving his opponent an opening just to see if he could end its life while giving up his own, but then he saw Serenade running up on Rhave's right side, where it was blind, and they silently exchanged looks of acceptance of a plan. Jacques could not explain how he knew what she was thinking, but he simply knew.

It was that look to the side, however, that was his mistake. When he looked back, only a second at most had expired, but one of Rhave's paws was passing under his guard. Its four main claws stabbed into his side and dug a long line across his ribs before ripping clothes and skin when it left. He stumbled with the strength of the blow and the crippling pain, and Rhave growled in excitement as it shot its jaws out to snap his head off.

Before it could fully commit to the movement, however, Serenade slammed the spear Bryce had given to her into its side, right under the front armpit, and it faltered. When its head snapped forward again, Jacques rolled under the attack and under the wolf. Before it could do anything, Jacques shoved his saber into its stomach cavity, then spun out and laid open all of its intestines. As his insides fell to the ground, Rhave howled ferociously, and Serenade put her foot against its shoulder and yanked out her spear before joining Jacques.

"Well, that was hard," she panted. She had had to run to keep up with a wolf.

"Indeed it was," Jacques smiled and put up a strong front. "but nothing too strenuous." His smile faded and he grunted as he clasped his hand to his side. Blood was seeping from him, and when Serenade looked down she could see the whites of his bones beneath the wounds.

"You should lie down for awhile. I'll heal you." She was about to do just that when she heard a growl behind her and turned to see Rhave, his intestines dragging on the ground under him, slowly walking towards them. Jacques tried to stand between the two of them, but when he took a step he stuttered and fell to one knee. Blood flowed from his wounds, and Serenade now guessed that those claws had not stopped at the bones, but had struck an organ or two. She realized that he would not be able to help her this time around, and for some reason she smiled.

'I'm no one's victim.'

she turned and faced Rhave, who had stopped walking and was crouched, and placed her spear out horizontally in front of her. She had expected him to attack, but even she was surprised when he leapt high into the air and landed on top of her. Thankfully, her spear was what saved her from an immediate death, as it lodged between the jaws of the wolf and kept its teeth away from her even as its immense weight bore her to the ground. This only stopped it for a moment, though, as it simply brought its head back a bit, which put the wooden shaft between its teeth, and snapped it in two like a dry twig.

Even as it did that, though, she dropped the back end of the spear and placed her open palm of its collarbone while yelling "Fire!"

A blazing inferno blew from her palm and billowed over the creature like a flamethrower. The sheer initial power of the spell blasted Rhave back a bit, and Serenade was able to back out from under him until she stood a few feet away from him, still blowing flames all over him. She felt the spell begin to end, so she dropped the front end of her spear as well and just as the flame from her palm ended, she placed both of her palms together and repeated the spell. This time the flames erupted from both of her hands, and Rhave thrashed and screamed in pain on the ground under the searing heat of it. She smiled as she watched him squirm in agony on the ground, but after ten seconds, she felt the spell end, and she had to sit down, exhausted. On the ground in front of her lay a huge, charred wolf.

After a moment, she stood, retrieved the bladed half of her spear, and was about to go back to Jacques when she heard low growling behind her. She slowly turned around and, to her amazement, Rhave was standing up once again. Her had no fur, no tail, no ears, and his entire body was disfigured beyond recognition, but he was standing again, and she had no more magic left in her save for healing.

"Die!" he screamed, and lunged forward with his jaws wide open and his claws outstretched. Serenade dropped to one knee, grabbed the second half of her spear, and then shot forward in a counter-charge. She used the two halves to take the momentum from the strikes of his claws and then bent over backwards to let the jaws snap over her. As she fell backwards from her bending, she spun her arms back, planted the two spear halves into the ground, and used them as a lever to flip backwards and kick Rhave in the mouth with both of her metal-shod boots before landing standing up.

She was ready before it was, and she dropped the second half of the spear and ran at the wolf with the bladed half clutched in both hands. She shoved the spear through the roof of Rhave's mouth and into its brain then, after pulling it out when it snapped down, spun to the side and sliced down the side of its face, slicing out its last eye. Rhave tried to slash at her, but she was within its guard, and she kicked one leg straight up, showing amazing flexibility, and slipped it over the wolf's neck. She used that leg as a lever to shift herself until she was sitting on its shoulders, and within seconds she was stabbing into the base of Rhave's neck with all of her force. At first it bucked and skipped, trying to dislodge her, but after only two or three of those it slowed, and eventually it could only stand still as she plunged her spear blade into the base of its neck again and again. Amazingly, it was only when the last ties of skin broke and its head fell to the ground that its body followed.

Serenade kicked off of the body, and landed on the ground to the side of it before losing her footing and falling to the ground herself. When she got up she turned and saw Jacques staring at her.

"What?" She looked down and saw that she was mostly red with the blood that had spewed from Rhave's neck, and then looked over at the huge wolf that was slowly turning back into a dwarfish human, then back at Jacques, who was still staring.

"Damn," was his only, uncouth, response, as he went to recollect his knives. Their battle was finally finished.

For his part, Triplecorpse's battle still raged, and neither side had slowed in the least. They still battled as fiercely as when the first blow had been struck, and as always, he swung his hammer with just enough strength to stop Blood's sword. Both parties fought with all of their might, and it was obvious that any other fighter would have broken, but still it was clear that their fight would not end soon like it was going now.

Maybe it was because they both realized that the battle must end, or maybe they were spurred on by Rhave's death, but for some reason, they both brought their weapons back and smashed them together. Instead of pulling back, though, they kept them locked. The face of the hammer ground against the blade of the sword, and both fighter's muscles bulged as they fought to force the other into submission through the most ancient method of overpowering the other. Their stances were low, and they were face to face, eying each other from only a foot or so away. At first they were once again equal, but then Blood shoved his head forward and snapped his jaws. Triplecorpse jerked his head back, and survived, but Blood used that moment to shove his sword forward.

Triplecorpse kept his ground, but his hammer was closer to him, and now it was steadily being pushed closer to him as Blood used that extra amount of distance as leverage. Blood smiled and wordlessly celebrated his victory. Triplecorpse smiled back, and spewed out the juices from his chewing tobacco into Blood's eyes. Blood instinctively jerked back, and the clash between the two of them was broken. Taking a few steps back, Blood swung his sword out blindly in an attempt to keep Triplecorpse away, but he was already there. Triplecorpse swung his hammer in both hands directly at the middle of the sword, and instead of both weapons meeting at the middle of their strikes, his hammer caught the sword early, and with that extra strength, added to the fact that the sword had been chipping constantly from having to clash with a hammer, broke the sword in two.

There was a loud snap, like a crack of lightning, and the top half of the blade was blown away from the rest of it to smash into the body of a werewolf to the side of them. Blood quickly wiped the juices away from his eyes, but when he could see again, all he saw was Triplecorpse's large-headed hammer coming right for his chest. The hammer rocked into him with all of the considerable strength the barbarian possessed, and Blood, the strongest of the werewolves, was blown back.

Triplecorpse wasted no time in pursuing, but when he went to slam his hammer down on Blood's head, a large, blood-red hand reached up and grabbed one of his arms. The power that had rocked the strongest of the werewolves was stopped completely, and when Triplecorpse looked down at the first class werewolf below him, he saw something that was larger and stronger than ever before, and its eyes were pure black. Blood had gone feral, and while this can be seen as a weakness to most werewolves, it was only more strength to him. His muscles shot out to at least one and a half of their original size, and his claws looked more like long knives than anything else. His fangs completely filled his mouth.

Another hand shot out, and Triplecorpse was blown back as Blood had been only second before. The difference being that five large holes were in Triplecorpse's chest, and Blood was on him just as he hit the ground. Blood sat his enormous weight on Triplecorpse and stuck his claw into his arms, pinning him to the ground. Triplecorpse tried to struggle, but the weight and strength was too much for him. Saliva dripped on his face as blood opened his mouth, and he shot his mouth down for the deathblow.

Had he been in his normal state, blood may have noticed Triplecorpse trap his right leg with his left, but he was beyond what could be considered thought, and so he was surprised and slightly bewildered when Triplecorpse shoved his hips up, pulled his arms—and Blood's, by extension—in, and rolled his body to the side. Blood could have stopped the roll that ended with him on his back with either his leg or arm, but his arm was stuck in Triplecorpse's, and his leg was caught. As it was, he soon found himself on the bottom.

Triplecorpse was between his opponent's legs, but he swiftly bypassed them while pulling his arms off of Blood's claws, and in another moment he had Blood where he had been only moments before. He did not have large jaws, though, so he brought a hand up and slammed it down on blood's snout. Teeth shattered, blood flowed, and the werewolf's pointed face became just a bit flatter. After the first punch, Blood seemed to regain hiss senses and began to claw at Triplecorpse's body, since his arms were not able to reach his head, and struggle fiercely. His claws slashed furrows down Triplecorpse's back, chest, and stomach, but Triplecorpse never stopped punching. He methodically lifted one arm after the other, and sent it crashing down with the strength of a titan.

He was littered with slashes, some of which went all of the way across him, and rows of blood criss-crossed his back and chest until blood flowed from him like water. It spewed down from him and onto Blood, further reddening his fur. Yet, even though his body was beaten and torn continuously, still Triplecorpse kept punching, and with each blow, Blood struggled less fiercely. His arms eventually took on more of a flailing attitude, and even those slowed with time, until with one final burst of strength he shoved his long knife-like claws into Triplecorpse's back. Triplecorpse groaned with the pain, but lifted his fist and threw it down one last time.

The hardened knuckles connected with the remains of Blood's face with a splat, as it was now more mush than anything solid. His snout had been pounded until it was flat against his eyes and ears, and when Triplecorpse brought his hand back, the imprint of it was still visible where he had struck his target. Triplecorpse raised his arm again, but then he opened his fist and pulled Blood's claws from his back, laid his arms on the ground, and stood. As he towered over the huge werewolf, one of Blood's eyes opened, and, amazingly, he spoke. His voice was twisted with the pain and distorted by his wrecked features, but it was still intelligible, which was a tribute to the first class werewolves' amazing regenerative abilities.

"This can't be. I-I'm the strongest."

"True," Triplecorpse kneeled back down until his face was right next to Blood's. "But not the best." He placed one hand on either side of Blood's head, and began to press his hands together. Blood's head was already healing, and his body was still in perfect condition. He could have resisted the juggernaut human, and might even have won, but his mind was broken beyond repair. He was the strongest, and he knew it, but he had been beaten into submission by a human. He had lost with weapons, on the ground, and even blow for blow. Everything he had tried to do had been defeated; he had been bested by a human! The shame and despair were too great for even him. He had given up, and there is no regenerative power in the world that can heal that.

In the end, all he could do was moan as his skull compressed minutely for a few seconds, and then mewl for a few more as cracks began to form in his head and blood began shooting from them. In another moment, his head exploded as Triplecorpse's hands met, and his brains and gray matter were sent out into the air.

As Blood's headless body fell to the ground, Triplecorpse rose and thrust his hand into the air. A yell of victory burst from his lungs, but it soon cut short. He began breathing swiftly in an attempt to make up for the fact that his lungs had been pierced through by Blood's claws, and soon he fell to the ground with a splash as the large pool of blood made by him and Blood was disturbed.

"Serenade! I know that you are of the Paladin sect. It would do us great gain if you could attend to the grievous wounds that my heavily-beset friend seems to have attained. Please use all of the haste you can muster, I believe that he is not long to live in this realm of existence."

Had Jacques not been fighting at the moment, he would have noticed that Serenade had started running towards Triplecorpse the moment he had stood up, and had reached him just as he fell. She knelt down by him and immediately began casting all of the healing spells she knew in the order she had been taught. First she healed his deep flesh, then, when he was breathing again, she started on the countless gashes all along his body.

When Jacques finally did turn around, and saw that his friend would at least live, he smiled and looked around the battlefield while muttering something about having wasted all of those pretty words on something that was already happening. Many vampires and necromancers lay dead. Most had been ripped open and their hearts excavated, but all were brutalized. It was the aftermath of being assaulted by an elite force of werewolves, and yet many first class werewolves also lay dead on the ground. There were not nearly as many, but enough for Jacques to be impressed. The vampire slayers and Paladins were also suffering their share of casualties, but despite all of the deaths that piled the clearing in the middle of the vampires' camp, it was obvious that the battle here would be determined by a much smaller skirmish at the middle of it.

The three-man battle between Vladimir, the King, and E, and the two-woman battle between Saphira and the Queen had devolved into a five-fighter free-for-all. All of them struggled as one, and they constantly shifted opponents from one to another. They gave everything to their battles, retaining just enough presence of mind to hold back their weapon if their ally came in front of them. It had seemed like all of them had fought another at least once, but then when at last two of them met, none were ready for it.

E and Saphira paused as they found one in front of the other. Their eyes met, and in those seconds they seemed to speak volumes to each other. E's seemed to plead with her. They begged with more eloquence than words can convey to come back with him; to live once again. With just a flicker, her eyes replied with pain. They shot back of the agony and the sorrow of all of these years spent away from her family. The century she had lived with the creatures she hated, the spawns of her defiler. For the briefest of moments, she almost looked like she wanted to come with him, but then her eyes hardened, and her beautiful face twisted in a sneer. Her voice cracked even as she spoke, though.

"It's too late, little brother."

She lunged at him, her sword swimming through the air like a reflection on the water being upset by ripples. It constantly changed its course in the seconds between the beginning of her attack in the end, which made E have to move his own guard around in anticipation, and yet when it finally struck, it was exactly where it had been in the beginning. E was barely able to block the attack, and when he himself struck out, Saphira flowed around his sword just like a whipping banner. Her next attack was, impossibly, even stranger and harder to predict than the first, and it landed at a place completely different than the first indication.

Once again, E was barely able to parry her sword to the side, but, once again, his attack was ineffective. Saphira continued to attack in her unorthodox manner; she moved in and out of the zone of combat, lunged to the side faster than the eye could follow just to dance deliberately back, and seemed to work with his sword rather than against it. In short, her fighting style confounded him, and even though he could keep up with it at the moment, she soon increased her pace. She whirled, ducked, wove back and forth, spun, and slashed at an ever-increasing speed until she was beyond the human comprehension.

Many small cuts began to show through E's clothing, though none had seen them executed, and in the end he threw himself back desperately as her sword pierced his chest. He had somehow seen her thrust in time to save himself from death, but still felt the edge of her blade enter his chest, and when he hit the ground, he felt the blood begin to soak his shirt. He tried to get up, but before he could even get off his back, Saphira walked up to him and placed her foot on his chest.

"What's the matter, little brother? Your old age finally catching up to you?"

He looked up at her smile and frowned in sympathy. "I'm sorry, sister."

Her smile turned to a look of question. "For what?"

"For this." Blinding light filled her sight, and at this distance, with that intensity, it was too much even for her. She screamed, dropped her sword, and fell to the ground. In moments, though, her powerful body regained itself, and her eyes stopped hurting. When she opened them, she stared down the blade of E's sword. He stood above her, and their eyes met once again. This time however, his appeal met with only a stone wall of resistance.

"Do it, little brother. Kill me, and end this torment."Her eyes and voice spoke defiance.

His grip tightened on the hilt of the sword and his veins bulged. He wanted to. He wanted to kill her, to save her, more than anything in the world, but even so the tip of his sword fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry sister, but this is not the way to save you. I cannot do this." His eyes fell, and he knew that he had failed.

"Luckily, I am under no such compunction," a voice whispered into his ear.

E turned swiftly to try to attack the opponent behind him, but it was pointless. He came about just in time to watch as Vladimir plunged one of his claws into his chest. The claws shot through him, bursting out of his back, and Vladimir let go of the grip and took a step back. All fighting, even the King and Queen—who had been battling with Vladimir and who had been looking for him ever since he disappeared—stopped, and all watched as E staggered, stumbled, and finally toppled to the ground.

There was silence as Vladimir kicked E over and ripped his claw back out from his chest. With glee he raised it over his head and pointed it at the leader of the vampire slayers, who lay at the verge of death.

"Now you die, vampire slay—"

His words were quite literally cut short by a silver knife plunging into his throat. He was more startled than hurt, but he quickly looked around to see who had thrown it. A gasp drew his attention back to the mortally wounded E, or at least, to where he had been. No there was nothing. A shadow came at him from the side, and he spun and slashed through it, but nothing was there. Then another flashed from the opposite direction, and just as fast he was turning towards it, but nothing was there. Then, with no warning, the Sword of Office burst from his chest, and he screamed in pain as his flesh began to burn away from the holy blade. E stood behind him, with both of his hands on the handle of the sword.

At first, his scream was high, but then it turned bestial, and he turned around and flung E away with one huge, furry, fist. In front of all watching, fur began spreading from his body, four wings, and tail. He grew a snout, and his muscles and skeleton grew until he was fifteen feet tall with muscles like tree trunks. His eyes burned red, and his canine teeth grew out longer than all of the others in his feral mouth. His ear elongated, and his claws grew out long. All of this happened in a moment, but even as he towered over all those around him, even the King, he collapsed onto the ground with the Sword of Office still glowing in his chest.

A woman's scream rent the air, but as all heads turned from towards it, it was obvious that it did not come from Saphira's lips. The Werewolf Queen ran to Vladimir, rolled him over, and cradled his head in her hands.

"Aaron, Aaron, please come back Aaron. You can't die, Aaron. I-I love you." She sobbed as tears ran down her face.

He smiled weakly and stared back up at her. "I've waited decades to hear you say it like that, Victoria. I think it was...worth it for that. I love you..." His words trailed off, and eyes slowly closed.

Then, from somewhere in the crowd, came the single word that broke whatever spell had been cast by Vladimir's—or Aaron's—death. "Werepyre."

The Queen, Victoria, shot her head around in the direction of the speaker, and her eyes were alive with hatred. She practically screamed her words. "That's right. Werepyres! Lueke will slay you all!" With this, she finally did scream, and her body went under the same morphing that Aaron's had gone under. She looked like a twisted perversion of both races' first class appearances.

A vampire warrior charged her, but when he swung his sword broke in two, and in another moment she had him by the torso.

"Lueke will destroy you all!" His body was crushed, and she flung it aside before charging her once-husband with more speed than even he knew she possessed. He could do nothing but stand and stare, as the love of his life charged towards him intent on taking his life. Just as she was about to reach him, though, a first class werewolf stepped in between them and locked arms with her.

"Deathfang!" the king gasped.

Even as strong as Bryce was, though, the werepyre was stronger still, and she began to press him back, at least until a minotaur slammed into her back, and then another and another and another. Eventually, she stumbled, and Bryce used that moment to turn, grab her, and fling her over his back onto the ground. She landed with a crash, and no sooner did she hit than vampires, werewolves, skeletons, vampire slayers, and paladins of every sort were at her limbs. They piled upon her, and struggle as she might, they had her pinned. Still, she shoved and cursed, at least until she saw Saphira walking towards her with the Sword of Office in her hands, then she fought with the strength of a monster and screamed.

She thrashed about, swung her tail back and forth, and even tried to use her wings to dislodge those who were on her, but it was all in vain. She screamed in agony when Saphira plunged the sword through her heart, and then she was silent. Victoria died just like her lover.

Saphira dropped the Sword of Office, and looked down to see that her hands had been burned by its handle. She turned to look at the King, who had recovered enough presence of mind to nod his silent agreement. The leader of the paladins was also there, and he nodded as well. A truce was made once again.

Saphira turned to her personal guard. "Find the Chiroptera, and have them send a message to our people fighting everywhere. Tell them that a truce has been called, and also a retreat. Have our people begin immediately pulling back to the campsite we had the day before."

As he flew off, the King turned to Bryce. "Deathfang. Tell the same to the werewolves. We will go with the vampires."

"Yes, sire." Bryce ran off as well, and just like that, the battle was over.

* * *

Damian had awoken soon after the impact, but he could still feel his blood leaving him, and he lacked the strength to get up, let alone defeat an enemy to satiate himself. As he lay there, in a puddle of his life, he resisted the urge to think back over his life, as he had no reason to look over it now. He knew what he had done, and all of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The last thing he needed before he died was to revisit every failure of his. Better by far was to just lie there and wait for the darkness to overtake him.

Nevertheless, and despite every effort he made to not think, he could not stop the thought from creeping into his mind. 'I wonder if Lucifer will get me if I die. Is there any hope left for me? Is there any way to escape him?"

He would have kept thinking, but just then a face came up next to him. It hovered over him, and when his tired eyes focused on it, he saw that it was a young vampire male with a pretty face. His face went away for a moment, and then a heart was shoved in front of him. A knife was slashed along the bottom of the heart, and blood flowed down from it onto Damian's face. Much of it spilled over him, but enough went down his throat and was swallowed that he felt his enhanced body begin to heal itself. It was a weak heart, and he was sorely wounded, so it took awhile, but eventually he felt enough strength return that he was able to stand.

The battle stilled raged around him, but for some reason there were no werewolves close to him. This puzzled him at first, but then he realized that an impromptu ring had been formed around him by the vampires in his unit so as to protect him. He turned to the vampire who had saved him and addressed him..

"What is your name, and how is the battle going?"

"My name is Daniel, fifth class, I'm from unit two. The battle is going well, but we're still at something of a stalemate."

In the back of his mind, Damian realized that the heart the warrior had fed him had been a fourth class heart. This warrior, who was not even from his unit, had risked his life, fought a superior opponent, and had given up his chance at advancement to save Damian. "Thank you."

Daniel smiled. "Ah, don't thank me. I like my unit captain and everything, but even Samael couldn't have saved us at the rate we were dying. You saved my life before I saved yours. I should be thanking you."

Damian looked around again and, now that his senses were clearing, he noticed that there was something different in the battle. It was hard to describe, but he knew that it was important.

"Has something happened?"

Daniel shrugged. "We don't know. We heard some really loud roars from our camp, but besides that nothing's happened."

Damian was puzzled by the shift, but he was still dedicated to fighting this battle to the bitter end, so he gathered his weapons, which had either been taken from Stragath's body or had been gathered by his men, and was about to charge back into the battle when suddenly N'colto landed down in front of him. He swiftly turned and addressed him.

"Damian, the werepyres are alive and will be attacking momentarily. The werewolves, vampires, paladins, necromancers, and vampire slayers have formed a truce and will be retreating to our old campsite from several nights ago. It is up to you to organize the remaining vampires and get them retreating."

Damian took one long moment to process everything he had just heard, but when he finally understood he looked around swiftly and spoke with his magically loud voice.

"A truce has been called, we will begin retreating immediately after the werewolves stop attacking us." After he had spoken this he turned back to N'colto and spoke to him in his normal voice. "Could you please survey the battlefield and tell me once the werewolves begin to retreat?"

"I will do that for you, Damian, but first, there is something I must tell you about the leader of the werepyres, Lueke." N'colto bent close and whispered into Damian's ear, and then he was back into the air.

* * *

Lueke, from his position at the top of the mountain, had been gleefully drinking in everything that he had seen up until the vampire slayers and paladins had burst onto the scene. Still, his enjoyment was only slightly dimmed, and seeing them die as well as all of the other races he hated made him even happier. The blood of ancients was being spilled freely with that of new cubs, and Lueke loved to see it flow. He had reached a peak when E had finally been defeated, and by Aaron no less, but right after that, everything had gone wrong. Not only had Aaron died, and then cowardly tried to turn into his true form to save himself, but then Victoria had changed back in fury and had been killed as well.

On top of losing two very good fighters, the four armies had undoubtedly formed an alliance and had just now started retreating. Their fear had overcome their blood lust, and even the werewolves were not trying to kill the others spread around them. Still, they could not escape in time. He turned to the one hundred and fifty werepyres, the largest army of them ever seen, and yelled.

"My children, the time to strike is now! Slay them all! Flay their flesh and drink their blood! Devour every one of them!"

The roar that issued in response to his words could be heard by all for miles around, and they added additional urgency to Bryce's and N'colto's urgings to leave.

* * *

When Damian heard the bellow from the werepyre, he had been trying to get the vampires into something resembling some sort of an orderly retreat. When the sounds of it flowed over him, however, shivers went up and down him. From the look on Vincent's face, he could tell that he felt the same. They both knew that noise sounded exactly like death.

"Alright, never mind getting in ranks. Run, just run for your lives!" Damian yelled out urgently.

By the time he commanded so, the werewolves were already implementing his ideas as best they knew. In their instinctual way, they could tell that the beast making its presence known was stronger, and that it was hunting them. They ran like rabbits from a hound, and all of the more human races among them ran just as hard. Fear was in their eyes, a primal kind of fear. Vampires, humans, necromancers, and werewolves ran back into the relative safety of the forest, while the Chiroptera took flight and vanished into the lightening night sky.

Only the demons stayed in the clearing, but Damian paid no attention to that fact, supposing that they had no fear of death. He thought very little of them at all, in fact, as preserving his own life was most important to him.

The tail end of the mixed groups had almost made it into the forest when the first figures appeared in the sky off of the northern horizon. They were monstrous shadows against the sky, with their huge wings carrying them through the air like angels of death. In moments, the sky was littered with them, and Damian began to lose hope of outrunning them. Even as he thought that, though, a gigantic green shield sprung up in the air in front of the werepyres. It stretched farther than the eye could see in every direction, and when the first werepyres reached it they crashed into it like birds on a window.

"Ghost." Damian heard Othniel say as they ran.

* * *

"Will you stay with me, Scar?" Ghost was panting from the effort of holding up his gigantic shield and preserving it from breaking as the werepyres bashed themselves against it.

"Of course, my brother," Scar sharpened his sword and looked up at the hordes that lay only fifty feet away or so. "We fought these beasts before, so it's befitting that we should die by their hands this night. However, it is not right that you three should be here. All of you are young, and should cherish life." He turned to address the three standing behind him.

"Shove it, wolfie." Triplecorpse's wounds had been almost completely healed by Serenade, and he swung his hammer experimentally. Grinning with satisfaction, he hefted it up in two hands and stood ready.

"You must forgive my insulting friend, but I do agree that is is completely correct. E is alive, and with Serenade, so our duty to them is completely exonerated in that regard, but there is one debt far greater that we still have yet to reimburse. Our blood-debt to Lidian, who saved us both at one time. There can only be one way to repay such a debt, and that is by the offering of our lives. The only way to repay being saved is by giving one's life. Blood for blood, and death for death." Jacques never looked up, but was methodically covering all of his knives in holy water while he sat in the bloody grass.

"I am far older than you are, young pup, and I stay for my people." N'colto studied the werepyres, as if looking for one in particular. "If they do not escape this battle, then my entire race is lost. I cannot allow that."

"Well, far be it from me to deny you your death wishes," Scar smirked.

"Almost...broken," Ghost gasped.

"Very well, I resign myself to this ignoble and unknown death. However, Triplecorpse, there is one thing that I must know before I die. One thing has puzzled me all of these years, and if I die without knowing the answer, it will be tragedy. I know that Triplecorpse Hammerblow is not your real name, so what is?"

Triplecorpse took a long time in responding, but when he did he looked his friend directly in the eyes. "Mathew. My real name is Mathew Eugene Scott."

Jacques tried to stifle a burst of laughter, so all that came out was a grunt as he doubled over and came up smiling. "Well, I can honestly say that I never would have guessed."

"Tell anyone and I'll kill you. And that goes for all of you three as well."

"Oh, I do not think that the deprivation of the commodity we call life is high on my list of things to avoid at the moment. In fact, if I am correct, then it will be coming momentarily.

"Can't...hold...any...longer" Ghost gasped, and then finally the shield burst apart. Immediately after it did, the werepyres, frustrated from having to attack an inanimate object for so long, swarmed down at the five small figures on the ground below them.

"Eugene, really?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Lueke hovered above the dome his warriors had formed around the five, and he was able to see every detail of their final fight. The wizard was the most deadly of them all, and had sent line after line of magic that criss-crossed their way across the air and sheared limbs, wings, heads, and even bodies in two whenever they hit a werepyre, which they did often. Obviously, his spells were specifically geared towards werepyres. Many werepyres fell from the sky and hit the ground, where they rolled in agony before being slain by one of the other defenders.

Many times a werepyre would swoop down from his flying to attack the white werewolf, but whenever he did, the gray one would leap into the air and intercept him. This one obviously knew just how to kill a werepyre, because even though any of them could obliterate him in one hit, they never hit him, and he killed at least two in this fashion. The others that came down he simply delayed long enough for the white one to shoot at them.

The two of them together had killed about fifteen before, finally, the gray one was caught between two werepyres. He had leapt at one but, while he was struggling with it, another came from behind and tore him in two. Once he was dead, the white one was able to kill one more with a straight line of death before another flew down and smashed him into the ground. All of his wards broke at once, and his body was reduced to putty in moments.

Once those two were dead, the werepyres began flying down en masse, and then the only thing keeping them back were the daggers being flung by one of the humans. It seemed like he would never run out of them, and each was thrown with perfect precision to hit either a vital or maiming point. Several died from his knives covered in holy water, but most were only driven back. Again, they would have swarmed him easily, save for the large human next to him. Once, when one had gotten behind the small one, the large one had grabbed it by the neck with one hand, slammed it to the ground, and had smashed it in the head countless times with his large hammer until it stopped struggling.

Lueke was amazed by the large one's strength, which was almost equal to the werepyres, but still inferior. Eventually, he became too preoccupied with fending off those who attacked him, and one werepyre got past him to charge the little one. He threw one dagger, which landed in the werepyre's eye but did not stop him, and then drew his sword. He severely underestimated the speed of a werepyre, however, as the act of drawing was all he was able to do before its sword sliced his head from his body and it clamped its jaws over his open neck, drinking in all of his blood as it spewed from him.

His death infuriated the other one, who began to swing his hammer around with abandon, but eventually it was broken at the shaft by a werepyre's claws, and then they swarmed him and ripped his body to pieces.

The last one, N'colto, had been fighting like all of the others, save that he had taken flight and was trying his best to protect them, until the last of them died. Once that happened, he flexed his wings and flew straight towards Lueke. The werepyres bunched in front of him as he tried to escape the dome, but he blew through them with all of the force of a small meteor. As all of the others saw where he was going, they flew around to try to catch him, but he was too fast for them. He collided with Lueke in the air, and they began to fall as they grappled back and forth in the air. They were face to face, and Lueke could see the pain in N'colto's eyes. It made him want to laugh.

"Hello again, N'colto. It has been a long time."

"Damn you, Lueke." N'colto struggled harder against him as they neared the ground. Just before they hit, however, hands grabbed all over N'colto and tore him from Lueke. Lueke flapped his wings hard and landed on the ground gently. In moments the werepyres had N'colto subdued and landed him on the ground as well. He was forced to his knees, and Lueke knelt down to look him in the eyes.

"Oh come now, you're not still mad about what I did to your family, are you?"

N'colto refused to let Lueke see him in agony any more, so he smiled. "I know what you are Lueke."

This shook the smile from Lueke's face, and gave him pause.

"Werepyres, a clever ruse. If only they knew—"

"Silence!" Lueke roared as he lashed out his huge hand and tore N'colto's adam's apple, and voice box, from his throat. Even then N'colto tried to speak, but all that came out was wheezing. "I know that you're still alive." Lueke grabbed N'colto's head and shoved it up until they were facing. "So you should feel this thoroughly." He turned to those around him and began walking away. "Eat him alive, from the feet up. Don't let him die until you reach his heart."

Lueke turned around and was beginning to take pleasure in N'colto's grunts of pain as the werepyre snapped bones and ground muscles from him with every bite when his third in command, Barrack, came up and reported.

"Amazingly, sir, we lost about forty men in that fight. With this amount, we won't be able to hunt down and completely destroy them before sunrise."

N'colto's pelvic bone was being torn open, and he finally let out a scream of pain when they began to rip off the halves of it with their teeth. "Damn, oh well, get the men to scour the battlefield in search of those not yet dead but who were too weakened to escape. Offer them life as a werepyre to save them. That should rebuild our troops, if not make them even larger than before. We will kill them tomorrow night with our new force."

Barrack nodded and flew off just as the werewolves who were eating N'colto, having already reduced him to half of what he should be, ripped his intestines out and reached in to remove his heart. They reveled in the taste, and Lueke smiled in victory as the last light left the eyes of that forest's most ancient inhabitant. "Now I'm finally one step closer. We will be the last race alive in this forest, I swear it on the graves of my mother and father."


	24. Assassin

24

Assassin

Damian and Bryce, together, scanned the forest around the newly-erected campsite of the three main armies. Damian looked about with his eyes, while Bryce let them go and regarded the forest without them. The two of them were very anxious, as dawn was coming very soon, and what happened in the few minutes between then and now would decide the fate of many hundreds of warriors. They had recently learned that the werepyres had one weakness, in their great list of strengths: They would die in the sunlight, like the vampires, and they could not maintain their special forms in the daytime, like the werewolves. It seemed that this combination of weaknesses was their only fault, and the only thing that had saved them. Or that might save them.

If those who had stayed behind had done a sufficient job of delaying the enemy, then they would have an entire day to plan their battle, or flight, and to organize their forces. If they had been quickly overrun, however, and the werepyres were on their way after the armies at this moment, then many would die before dawn came. The damage would be irreparable.

Damian gave a sigh of relief when Bryce finally announced that there were no werepyres in the area around them. They would survive another day, at least. Satisfied that their jobs had been fulfilled, they turned back and headed towards the amalgam of individual camps that made up their refuge. As they walked, Damian turned to regard the one who had, until very recently, been his enemy.

"So Deathfang, you are a vampire slayer?"

"I told you my name," Bryce returned. "and yes, I am."

Damian stepped aside a vampire rolled up in a tight body bag that covered all of him. "But that must compete with your night job quite a bit, I mean besides being able to kill vampires."

Bryce chuckled. "It definitely does, but Serenade, she showed me that I could be both a werewolf and a vampire slayer, so long as I do not let my instincts overcome my convictions. I will only act as a werewolf until it goes against what I believe to to right, and then I will deny myself."

"So...Have you not killed a human before?" Damian's face was grave and inquisitive.

Bryce looked down. "A human? No, but I have killed an innocent. I killed and devoured my friend and brother, a dwarf. When I first turned, he was there, and I thought that it was beyond me to control myself, so I gave in without a fight. I murdered him, and I would have killed many more in my Bloodlust, had not Serenade stopped me and saved me. I have not killed a single pure one since then and, with her help, I intend never to."

When he looked back up he saw Damian staring at him with a mixture of sorrow and envy. "I truly wish that I could say the same. I have drained countless innocents, and killed many more."

Bryce was mildly surprised by the remorse. "But you regret what you have done, do you not?"

Damian chuckled slightly. "Regret cannot take back their deaths. Regretted sin is sin nonetheless."

"I suppose that you are right." Bryce sighed. "But you must have known what this life entailed before you chose it, so why did you?"

"I was given a choice between death or life, and at the time, I was too selfish to realize that death is by far the better choice. I suppose that I still am, as otherwise I would not still be alive." Damian replied.

They continued to walk through the large camp in silence until Bryce finally asked the question he had been wanting to.

"Who was it who turned you, and gave you the decision?"

"An old bastard of a vampire. They say that he was the oldest of them all left alive, and he was a good being. Better than most humans, in truth. He was killed long ago, however."

"How?" Bryce asked.

"Political intrigue. I was supposed to protect him, but I was off trying to raise my rank, and so he died." Damian quickly changed the subject. "You spoke of Serenade, were you the one who brought her to the werewolves?"

Bryce was checked by that comment. "You know Serenade?"

Damian wondered if he should have mentioned it, but figured that it was best to keep on going. "Yes, I saved her once from one of the other villagers who was trying to kill her. I have no knowledge of what has happened to her between that moment and meeting her in the werewolf dungeon, however."

Bryce stopped, looked up, and then began laughing softly and shaking his head. Damian watched him curiously until he finally started speaking.

"Wait...So then were you the one who killed all of those bandits, the boy, those villagers, and that pack of werewolves?"

Damian raised an eyebrow. "I have no memory of slaying villagers, but I did kill the bandits, the boy, and those werewolves, yes."

Bryce was looking incredulous. "Well then, that means that you are the reason I was sent to this part of the forest and eventually turned into a werewolf."

"You came in reaction to what I did?"

"Definitely. I do have one question I've always wanted to ask, though. Who or what are Kyrion, Nicole, and Helen?"

Damian almost smiled in memory. "They were my father, mother and sister. The one whose chest I carved their names into was named Wulf, and he and his brother had slain all of them when I was young."

"So then that hunt was one of vengeance?"

Damian looked upwards with his eyes a bit, remembering. "Partly, that one had recently become a first class, and had been flaunting his power before our race. I decided to go and risk my life to stop him."

"And what of the two vampire slayers who were there, how did they act?"

"They caught me, but the werewolves caught up to us before they could kill me, and so they let me go and helped me to defeat all of them. They fought well. They sat out of the final fight, but the older one attacked me and I had to kill him. The younger had been bitten and was turning to a werewolf, so I gave him the same choice I had been given. He chose better than I, and so I beheaded him."

Bryce nodded. "That adds up, thank you."

By then they had reached the heart of the camp, and were little surprised to see that chaos reigned all over the grounds. Vampires, werewolves, slayers, and paladins ran all about trying to prepare for dawn, which was imminent. They made their way through the crowd of assorted races until they were stopped by Serenade. She turned quickly to Bryce and addressed him.

"Bryce, E is dying. He requested to see you and the vampire as soon as possible."

Without a look Damian's way, she spun and began walking in the way they presumed E's tent to lie. Bryce smiled apologetically at Damian and, when his smile was returned with a morose grin, they followed after her. It was obvious that she had not forgiven Damian in the slightest, but he was resigned to that, and also felt he deserved her reproach.

The tent they were looking for, and quickly reached, was a little away from all of the others, and had a small crowd of humans around it. The group parted for the two immortals, and when they made it inside, they saw E on a cot, surrounded by his aids and with Safiria bending over him. She had one of his hands clasped by hers, and her face was wet with tears, as he struggled to breath under the bandages that had been hastily placed over his mortal wound. Medical magic had been applied to him, but either due to the magical properties of Vladimir's weapons, or due to E's age, they were only able to delay his death rather than stop it.

The first thing the two of them noticed when E sat up to greet them was that his face and skin looked like he had aged decades in the last few hours since his wound. He was in obvious pain, and it seemed that only Safiria's support kept him from falling back down. He tried to smile, but it quickly turned to a grimace of pain, and when he spoke, his voice sounded tired, as if drained of life.

"Bryce, Damian, please come closer. Good. Bryce, I have known you for most of my life, and though you are far older than I am, I have always considered you as more of a son than anything else. You have passed every other vampire slayer, excluding myself, in martial skill, purity of conscience, and judgment. If I could choose any to follow after me as the leader of the vampire slayers, it would most certainly be you.

Damian, I have never met you personally until just this moment, but I have heard many good things about you from others in this camp, and I watched you in your duels and in combat. You appear to have exceptional character, and a strong sense of what is right and wrong. Your martial prowess is also argued by none. You have a better chance of being a good person than many humans do.

I am swiftly leaving this world, and I have no regrets. I have seen my sister returned to me, even if not saved, and that is all I can expect. However, I have one thing left to do before I leave. I must bestow my Sword of Office upon one of you. None of my other officers has the strength required to hold it, and no other being in this forest, no matter how powerful, has an untainted conscience sufficient enough to hold it for very long or to use it rightly. You two are the only other two that have the strength, and I can only pray that one of you has a pure enough heart to wield it. Bryce, come forward first."

E picked up the sword from where it lay on the ground and held it out. Just holding it in his hand seemed to make him ten years younger. Bryce walked up and and grabbed it with one hand to bring it up. When it was level with him, he wrapped his other hand around the grip, and held it with both hands, waiting. For some reason, as soon as he touched it, he felt that it was probing his mind; digging around inside him like a worm. It searched through his deepest memories and forced itself into the deepest crevices of his psyche.

His mind went back hundred of years to when he was just a child, and then quickly sped up through the years all of the way until that night at Amityvale when he had ripped his partner apart and eaten him. Once that scene was done, the force inside him rewound and watched it again and again. He kept seeing himself tear into his friend over and over. He tasted the blood again, and it disgusted him. Bryce closed his eyes to try to dispel the images, but when he did he heard a voice inside his head whisper.

"You are not worthy to wield me."

He felt his hands begin to grow hot, and realized that the handle of the blade was beginning to burn into him. At first it was weak, and he could still hold on, but then it increased dramatically, and it felt like his hands were on fire. With a grunt, he slowly bent forward, even though he felt like his skin would start melting at any moment, and placed the sword back in E's hands.

"I am not worthy to wield the blade." He said with finality, and he believed it too. The images in his head were too telling for him to ignore. He knew that he was not worthy. He looked down at his hands, and they had red outlines of the sword's handle on them. When E got the sword back, he sighed.

"I am sorry, my son, but it has rejected you. Damian, it is your turn."

Damian approached the sword and grabbed its handle with his right hand. He lifted it from E's grasp and held it horizontally in front of him with one hand. He stared down at it, and everyone watched, him. After a few long moments, his face made the slightest twist, but after that he was completely passive. Once a minute had passed, E smiled.

"Good, it seems that the sword had chosen you, Damian. May you wield it against the werepyres, and against anything else that threatens justice. Now that I know that my sister is with me and the future is in the hands of the two of you, I...I can die in peace..." With those last words, E, the only light in the dark forest, took one last breath, and then died as he let it out. The world already seemed darker without him, and even the ever-illuminated Sword of Office dimmed perceptively.

Everyone was silent, but then one by one they turned their heads to Damian, who walked to the exit of the tent, opened the flap, and walked out, the sword still in his hand. He walked from there through the camp, where everyone else also stared at him, and finally into his own, large tent. Once he closed the flaps behind him, he dropped the sword and fell to his knees, clutching his hand to his chest. When he took it away, he saw that his palm was bleeding, and that the engravings on the hand were already burned into his hand. Around them, the skin had been melting off of his hand, and he bit his lip in an attempt to stifle the pain that still coursed through his body, but that was slowly getting weaker now that he had let go of the sword. He could feel that the inlays from the handle were already going to be permanently branded into his hand, and probably his other one as well once he used it.

"Hurts like Hell," He gasped to no one in particular. "But not as bad as that cross did, and this thing's accusations cannot compare to Lucifer's. I can endure this. I can do this." Even through the blood on his hand, he could still see the image of the cross in it. His memories had already been ravaged to their utmost.

* * *

"Damn this light!" Lueke growled, "We could have caught and killed them all by now if it wasn't for those five, and that damn sun." He sat in his human form, which even without being in werepyre form, was still quite intimidating, under the shade of a tree and brooded until one of his captains hailed him and walked through the shade of the tree before stopping a respectful distance from him.

Lueke gave him moderate attention. "Report."

"Sir, our numbers have grown to at least three hundred from the recruits on the battlefield. Also, one of them gave off that he was very important, and wished to speak with you."

Lueke was intrigued, but was even more so when a fully formed werepyre walked through the shade towards him. At first he thought it was an illusion, but when he realized it was true he jumped to his feet.

"What is your name, werepyre?"

"Dimitrious," the werepyre returned "I was a vampire lord. I am also the leading worshiper of Lucifer in the vampire nation."

Lueke put on a mask of indifference. "Lucifer, eh?"

"Yes, my lord has endowed me with great gifts, one of which I recently discovered to be that I can maintain this form in the daytime." his presence in that form rather substantiated his words. He was a true servant of Lucifer.

"So...You come from Lucifer, then?" Lueke was not ready to commit to anything, especially in front of his troops.

"Yes, which is why I know what that amulet around your neck means, though I would never tell. This is also why I am your humble servant." Dimitrious bowed low.

"And why is that?" Luke asked.

"Because it is clear to me that you, and you alone, are Lucifer's champion." Dimitrious answered.

A fierce grin slashed along Lueke's face, and even though he was human, the viciousness in his face made him look anything besides. "So, you can stay in this form in the sun, eh?"

Dimitrious never looked up from his bow. "Yes, sir."

"Then I want you to go to the camp of our enemies and kill all of their leaders, champions, and any you see as being a threat to me and my Position. You will be my assassin." Lueke's grin was still on his face as he spoke.

Dimitrious straightened his body and now his smile matched Lueke's. "Yes, sire." He enthusiastically exclaimed and began to run off. When he was far enough away, one word escaped his mouth, and he spit it out while at the same time savoring the taste of it. "Damian."

* * *

Damian was sitting on the cot that was stuck to the side of his tent. Well, it was not exactly his tent, but whoever it had belonged to had not claimed it, and it had been assigned to Damian, so he figured he would stay in it until that person reclaimed it. He felt slightly uncomfortable inside it, as it was far larger than any he had ever owned before. In fact, it seemed almost comical to him at the moment, as his few possessions barely covered a tenth of the spacious pavilion, and the rest of it was completely empty. He wondered what the person who had originally owned it had done with it, and figured that whoever it was had to have been fairly rich if he had been able to completely use the area.

Before him, on the cot, the Sword of Office lay in front of him, still glowing almost threateningly. He tentatively reached out to touch the blade, but withdrew his hand before even touching it. Turning his hand over, he gingerly flexed his raw fingers. He had not even placed his hand upon the blade, and he was still burned. Deciding against the blade, he next reached out his right hand and firmly grasped the hilt of the weapon. It did not bother with slowly warming up to him, but instantly started the burning pain inside his palm.

"You are unfit to wield me!" He heard its voice exclaim inside his head, and he knew it was true, but still he kept his grip on the handle. The pain continued to intensify, as did the volume of the voice in his brain, but still he stayed.

Finally, he released the weapon and slowly brought his hand back. A sigh escaped his lips as the railing noise inside his head faded from him. He knew that this sword was not only the best weapon their armies had for combating the werepyres, but that it was also something of a flag for them as well. It was a symbol of hope and victory in this dark time, and it reminded others that all was not lost. He had to wield it, otherwise many would likely desert out of desperation or despair. Also, and this thought disagreed with him even more, he did not think that he could even kill a werepyre, let alone the leader of them, without a weapon as powerful as this. In fact, without being able to use his Other form, he was forced to wonder if even this would be enough. He really wished that Bryce had been able to hold it.

With these thoughts in mind, he was about to stretch out his hand to grasp the handle of the sword once again, but then he heard light steps outside of his tent. He stopped the movement and tensed. Seeing as it was during the day, nothing should be moving around. Even werepyres could not move around freely in the daytime. He threw his cloak over the sword and grabbed his two knives while trying to get to the entrance of the tent as quietly as possible. Just as he reached it, the tent's flap started to open very slowly. He slipped his smaller knife into his boot and waited.

When the hand of the intruder was finally visible, Damian lunged forward, grabbed it with his open hand, and jerked towards himself as hard as possible. Whoever was trying to enter lurched forward, off of his feet, and onto the ground inside the tent. The large hat the person had on toppled to the ground, and the person;s heavy cloak flapped as its owner hit the ground. Damian gave him no time to recover,either, as he put his knee on the other's back, pulled his head back, and placed his long knife on his throat.

"Who are you, what are you doing here?" Damian demanded, and gave a sharp tug on the person's hair in emphasis.

When the other chuckled slightly, Damian was caught off guard. "Do you always greet visitors in such a rough fashion Damian."

Damian smiled and stood up, removing his hand, knee, and knife from Vincent's throat. "Only when they try to sneak into my tent in the middle of the day."

Vincent got up and dusted off his cloak. "Yea, well, I have good reasons for this intrusions."

"Oh really? And what would they be?"

"Well, first there's..." Vincent tensed as Damian had moments before and cocked his head to the side. "Did you hear that."

Damian had, and was already back to his original position at the side of the entrance. Once he got there he motioned for Vincent to do the same. They took positions on opposite sides of the entrance, and then stood silently, listening. The footsteps, not hidden like Vincent's had been, but open, closed upon the tent, stopped in front of it for a moment, and then started again as a figure pushed its way inside. Once it did, Damian, feeling a strange sense of deja vu, grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Unlike the other, this one spun while falling, kept his large hat on, and landed on his back. Damian knelt over him, and was about to begin interrogating him when he saw his face and froze. Vincent stared back at him from the ground, with a bewildered look on his face.

"Vincent?" Damian was feeling very confused.

Vincent was about to answer, but then looked past Damian with a look that turned increasingly to surprise. "Behind you!"

Damian spun quickly, pulling his second knife from his boot, and saw the previous "Vincent," now unmistakable Dimitrious, launch a knife his way. Damian dodged to the side, and Dimitrious smirked while shedding his large cloak.

"Hello again, my dear friend. You have proven yourself to be quite the resilient fighter indeed. There are not many alive or dead that can defeat a general in Lucifer's army single-handedly. And you even did it without changing into your Other form too. Quite a feat."

"And you seem to be as self-serving as always." Damian felt good being able to not have to hold his tongue for fear of the consequences. "I assumed you were dead when you were not with us, but now it seems that you were defeated, and are now one of them."

"An astute and almost accurate observation. Reasoning and fighting skills like yours were a few of the many reasons I once thought that you were Lucifer's champion, but no longer. I have met Lucifer's champion, and I was not defeated, I stayed behind with my demons and waited for him. I now serve him, and you are but a roadblock to our domination."

"Then I suppose that I will have to be as great a roadblock as I can be." Damian spoke calmly, but once he finished he flung both of his weapons at Dimitrious with perfect accuracy. Dimitrious only laughed, however, as they passed through him with a trail of mist following them.

"Foolish Damian, very foolish."

He held his hands out and two swords appeared in them as he began to pursue Damian, who had turned once he had thrown his weapons and was running towards his cot. He only took a few steps, however, when his path was blocked by Vincent, who had his sword and buckler on and a determined look on his face. The sight caused another chuckle to emanate from Dimitrious.

"You may have recently attained first class and your Other form, child, but do not assume that this makes us equals. I have been a first class for millennium. My powers were second only to our rulers then, and now I am beyond even them. I am the ultimate power in this world, and you are nothing!"

"Right now, I probably am nothing." Vincent hoped the bravado in his voice masked his trembling. "But when I kill you and take your heart, I really will be something.

Dimitrious' only reply was to hiss in fury as he dematerialized the swords in his hands and replaced them with his weapon of choice. Vincent had never seen a weapon like it before, and he was not the only one. Dimitrious' weapon was an anomaly among vampire fighting styles, and few had ever seen it. Fewer still had lived through seeing it. It was a long staff, with sword-like blades running along one side of it. The two blades started at the tips of the staff and ran down to almost the middle, where they ended so that there was a place Dimitrious could grip the staff. On one end of the staff was a sharp sickle, which curved back before hooking forward like an exaggerated crescent, and on the other was a curved, "L" blade. The "L" blade was blunt, angular, and fat on the bottom, as reinforcement, and yet the inside was curved and sharp.

It was a remarkable unique weapon, and one that Dimitrious had made himself and had created his own fighting style to accompany it. Many had thought it foolishness, had laughed at his weapon, and he had enjoyed ripping out their hearts the most after he had defeated them in duels. But that was back in the old days, when he had to battle his way to Lucifer's side as third in command, right behind that bastard Preatias. Back then, duels were fought to the death rather than defeat.

Many, after seeing the devastating effects of his unconventional weapon and strange fighting style, had either requested his teaching, tried to mimic his weapon and style, or had sought themselves to find some strange weapon to use. He had turned down the first with glee, made sure that the second type failed, and had let the third ones do as they wished.

Yes, he had slain dozens of first class vampires and werewolves alike, and these two would be no different.

In the end, it was Vincent who made the first move. He ran forward, with his sword and shield held close to him, and his body tilted forward. Dimitrious held his staff in front of him with both hands and waited, a smile of his face. When Vincent reached him he shot out his sword as swift as possible, but almost before he began moving, Dimitrious' staff was up and blocking where the sword was. When the weapons clashed, however, the sword tipped back and began to fall. Far too late, Dimitrious saw that Vincent had let go of the sword just then, and was spinning. When he came out of the spin, moments later, he rammed the edge of his buckler into Dimitrious' chest, just under the staff, and sent him stumbling back.

Catching the sword before it hit the ground, Vincent continued his attack with a barrage of swipes and stabs, but none of them hit. Dimitrious, though staggering and rather shocked, was still able to work his hands around the space given them to or stop or deflect all of the attacks at him. He stepped back while blocking for a moment, until his feet were firmly planted on the ground, but when he was finally stable, he deflected Vincent's attack to the side. Vincent, not expecting him to recover so fast, had to shift his head to the side to narrowly avoid decapitation by the L side that came at him in the same movement as the block.

Even as he dodged, though, he saw the horizontal end of the L swiftly turn vertical, and in another moment, the crescent end chopped down at him. Vincent brought his sword up and blocked the attack, but then realized the problem of fighting against a crescent as his sword blocked it inside the circular blade, and the tip was stopped only inches away from his eye. It turned out that Dimitrious was not attacking down with the chop, but rather down and towards himself, which Vincent discovered when his sword was yanked down away from him. Remarkably, Vincent kept his grip on the weapon, but when he did he wondered if he should have let it go, because he was immediately over extended, and also in the perfect place for the L end of Dimitrious' staff to stab upwards at his chest.

In a desperate fit of adrenaline, Vincent shoved his shield in front of him, and blocked the attack, but without even hesitating, Dimitrious spun to the right and slashed down one last time with the crescent end and stuck it into Vincent's back, right behind the shoulder blade. The circular shape of the blade did not lend itself to the straight attack down, and as such the tip stuck only a few inches into him, but that was all Dimitrious wanted. He jerked his hands back viciously, and the blade, after cutting through some flesh like a fishing boat through water, caught on the inside of Vincent's shoulder blade and pulling him off of his feet with the suddenness of it. Vincent cried out as much from surprise as from the pain, and he was unable to recover before falling onto his face on the ground. He rolled over swiftly, and was just fast enough to scramble away from Dimitrious, who made to pursue, until his way was blocked by Damian, who carried a shaking Sword of Office in his hands.

"Away from him, Dimitrious, it is I you want."

"True," Dimitrious took a casual stance and paced around Damian a bit. "but now I am interested in this one, and quite angered as well. See, it has been quite a while since any has been able to touch me in combat, let alone in the very first move. He shall pay dearly for that."

Despite the pain, Damian tightened his hold on the handle of the sword. "Not while I can stop you."

"Well, I foresaw possibly having to deal with more than one opponent, which is why I brought some help of my own." Dimitrious pulled a small black box from... somewhere on him, and tossed it on the ground to the side of Damian. "Come forth." He exclaimed.

The box lid flew open, and shadows seemed to billow out of it. The shadows expanded like smoke for a moment, but then coalesced into the shapes of twelve shirtless vampires. Well, at least they looked like vampires to Damian. Their skin was bleach white, and their eyes were red, but there was no light of intelligence in their pupils, only feral ferocity. Instead of just elongated canines, all of their teeth were razor and the size of nails. Their jaws seemed detached from the rest of their faces, and hung down limp and loose. They were armed with blades that had been either strapped to their arms, or perhaps grafted into their skin and bones, Damian could not tell, exactly. The blades were short, about two feet long, but sturdy, and double edged. Deadly.

As soon as the twelve of them were formed, they began to surround Damian, snarling and snapping their strange jaws. They seemed wary of coming too close to him, however, and he could tell that it was because of the sword. Even now, it pulsed with light, as if the presence of so much evil made it giddy with excitement. Each wave from it slightly hurt the skin over his body, and he could not blame the other vampires from keeping their distance, but he knew that it would not last. He also knew that, even if each of them was only about the strength of a third class, he would not be able to survive if they all attacked at once. There was only one way to live through this situation, and he only hoped that he could do it.

He closed his eyes, shoved his sword into the air, and thought 'light.'

Even with his eyes closed, he saw only white for half of a second, and he could feel the burning pain that covered his body, but it was nothing unbearable. He heard the beasts cry out in pain as one, and just as he heard the first one, his eyes flashed open, and he was moving. The one right in front of him was still curled over, holding its hands to its face, and was cut down with ease. One slice from above was all it took, and no resistance was offered to his blade, almost as if the flesh divided before his sword even reached it. The creature's blood spewed from the two halves of its torso, and as its skin began to dissolve from contact with the holy blade, its blood flowed over it. The red oozed into the intricate designs in it, and the bright shining was accentuated brilliantly by lines of dark blood in front of it. It was almost like this was its true face.

The beasts were powerful, though, and the second one was ready for Damian, even though only being a few feet away. He lashed out with the sword and it, with almost as much speed and skill, blocked the attack with one blade and swung out with the other. As Damian ducked under the blow, grabbed its wrist, and lopped off its arm, he realized that these were all somewhere between being second class and first class, which made victory ever farther away. Unobtainable, in fact. Nevertheless, when the creature spat and punched down with its remaining blade, he still stepped close, making its blade pass behind him, and shoved his sword up into its neck and head. Again, the blood flowed down his sword, and it hummed its contentment. 'Two down,' he thought. 'Just ten more. This will be hard.'

* * *

'I'm dead.' Vincent thought as Dimitrious stalked towards him with his staff held menacingly in one hand.

"Very good, child, but now you die."

Vincent grunted and tested his shoulder. It still worked, but every movement he made with it sent sharp, biting pain through his body. 'I'm so dead.'

Dimitrious flipped his weapon into both hands and lead with a slash with the L side. Vincent tried to dodge by ducking down forward, but Dimitrious spun to the side and came with an upward strike at Vincent's neck with the crescent side like a guillotine from below. Vincent stuck his sword out and placed the flat of it on his chin, so that the blade slid off of his and continued up past his head, and was just regaining his balance when Dimitrious flipped the staff over and chopped up with the blunt side. Vincent blocked it with his buckler, but then he flipped it again and sent the crescent back around, tearing the shield down and opening Vincent. He stabbed forward with the outside edge of the crescent, which was also bladed, and, when Vincent twisted to the side and let it pass by, turned it over until it was horizontal and dropped it a bit before hooking it back.

Vincent noticed just soon enough what was happening, and he kicked his leg out at the exact moment the crescent passed under it. With only one foot on the ground, however, he could do nothing to dodge or block when Dimitrious flipped his staff between his hands, lunged towards him with the flat end of the L side, and punched it into his gut. Vincent threw his buckler up almost instinctively, and caught the inevitable strike with the flat blades along the staff, but once again had the shield torn down by the crescent. He tried to swing out and catch the other vampire with his sword, but Dimitrious spun around and swung his staff low while spinning. The end of the L side stuck into the back of Vincent's leg, and he fell when Dimitrious ripped it out.

On the ground now, Vincent was barely able to roll to the side when Dimitrious chopped the L side of his weapon down like an axe, and he heard the thud as it stuck into the ground. He kept rolling, trying to gain distance between the two of them, but then Dimitrious laughed, twisted the staff so that the L side broke the dirt it was imbedded in, and slammed his staff into the ground. Vincent was forced to stop his role, as if he had continued he would have ended it within the crescent's clutches. He was alive, but now he was on the ground with a bladed staff only a foot above him. For just a moment, he looked up into Dimitrious' face, and suddenly, though he had no idea how to stop it, he knew what the old bastard would do.

Dimitrious knew exactly what Vincent would do. He had always known what his opponents would do, which was why he always won. His special weapon was more for show than anything else, as he could win with any weapon, but it did serve its purposes. His main weapon, however, had always been his ability to analyze his opponents, and allies; to know what their style was, know what they would do, and how to counter them. He always knew what they would do. Always.

This Vincent was different, however, well, at least at first. He had been disturbingly hard to read, and Dimitrious had not even seen that first move coming, which perturbed him greatly. That was behind him now, as was his discomfort. He could easily read the vampire's movements, deduce his style, and predict what he would do. For instance, when Dimitrious slammed his staff into the ground, to relieve the other's head from his shoulders, Vincent would throw himself to the side, shifting his head to the side, and for a moment avoid decapitation. Dimitrious would then rip his staff from the ground, straddle Vincent, and open his throat with the outside of the crescent blade, then pierce his heart with the L side. This battle was already over.

Dimitrious laughed and shoved the staff down, digging the blades into the earth, but Vincent did not throw himself to the side, but quickly shoved his shield in front of him. 'He's more foolish than I thought. He cannot hope to stop an attack with this much power. He'll be stunned, and then I'll open his stomach.'

When the blades of the staff met the buckler, however, all of Dimitrious', and gravity's, power was stopped cold. All of the world stopped for Dimitrious, and all he could think was 'How?!' When he looked down, he saw that, even though the rest of his body was normal, Vincent's arm holding the shield was black and throbbing with power.

'A partial transformation, for a vampire? Impossible!' Even Lucifer, with all of his strength, had never shown or spoken about any such power. No vampire in their entire history had. And now this one does. Dimitrious could not have predicted this, because for all of his knowledge, he knew not of it.

Vincent himself had little knowledge of what he was doing, but he knew how it felt, and that he could rely on it. He pushed Dimitrious away, tearing the staff from the dirt, and then placed his buckler's flat part on the ground. Using his Other form arm, he supported the weight of his entire body and swung around, partially transforming one of his legs while tucking in the other. His kick had such power that both of Dimitrious' legs were instantly broken at the knees, and he began to fall to the ground like a rag doll.

With more speed than he knew he possessed, Vincent finished the spin by landing on normal feet and sending his sword in an upward slash with a partially transformed arm. Dimitrious looked at the blade and laughed. His body, still in midair, began to flow and twist, as if made of smoke, and the smile on his face spoke all.

'Scared me with that. Not natural. Still, with the powers granted me by Lucifer, I can at least stall for time until I can fully analyze him and reenter the fight or find an opening.'

His smile was changed to a scream of pain when Vincent's sword cut through him, and once it touched him he could feel himself rematerialize. He looked down to see a large, gaping cut in his torso, and that the ground was rushing away from him. He hit the side of the tent and slid to the ground, a broken, bloody mess. He looked at Vincent, who looked like any other vampire at the moment, and one word escaped his lips.

"How?"

Now it was Vincent's turn to smile as he walked forward. "Holy water was used to temper this blade. Your sorcery is nothing."


	25. Superior Being

25

Superior Being

As Dimitrious' scream rent through the air, Damian turned swiftly, seeing one of the vampire beasts rushing at him. He leapt into the air over it, using its head as a perch for his left hand to vault him over, and landed behind it as it continued forward. Almost as if they had been waiting for him, two more were right in front of him, and they launched into him enough ferocity and strength to cause him to quickly begin to backpedal. They jabbed and slashed their blades back and forth with blinding speed and surprising force, and even while moving backwards, Damian found that he had to give them his full intention and work as hard as he could just to block and dodge all of their deadly attacks.

Something bothered him, though, and he realized what it was when he bumped into the back of the vampire he had jumped over moments before. He felt its back turn against his and its shoulder blades raise as it brought its arms up. Without needing to look, he spun to his left, ducked down, under the sweeping blades meant for his head, grabbed his sword in both hands for a moment, and then passed it through the beast's torso. He cut through close to the pelvis, since he was still coming up from ducking, but when the flesh was eaten away, it went down all the way to the crotch, so that both of its feet, no longer attached to their body, fell to the sides as its large intestine dropped out of it. The body soon followed, and it lived for just a moment longer before it bled out.

At a step behind him, he instinctively rolled forward, into the small puddle of blood, and shoved his sword back behind him for a moment before coming back up. When his feet hit the ground again, her turned back to see that he had grazed the creature that had attacked him from behind in the inside of its leg. The wound was already spreading, and as it faltered he lunged at it and buried his weapon in its chest. That was five dead now, and seven more still alive.

He was tiring now, though. He had been fighting and surviving the attacks of twelve almost-first class vampires for too long, and it also almost felt like the Sword of Office was draining energy from him as well, though this he could not tell for sure. Regardless, he was tiring, and the remaining seven had him surrounded. To make matters worse, he could no longer use the light, because they had learned after the first try to close their eyes if he tried to.

Even as he was in this predicament, however, he also noticed something exceedingly strange. With every one of them he killed, the Sword of Office burned his hands a little less. Granted, it was only marginally lessened, and he could not be sure if it was not simply his senses dulling, but usually the pain only increased. It also seemed to scream his sins with just a little less intensity, or he was just not paying as much attention to it. He would have gladly thought about this more, but just then all seven of them lunged in at him as one. Their many blades all pointed at him.

A vision of what seemed like long ago flashed through his mind, and he ducked down, almost to the floor, until even the lowest of their blades went over him, and slashed out in a circle around him as he had back when John and his gang had attacked him. These were vampires of a high class, however, not humans, and so they all leapt back without any injuries. One, however, ended its jump just a bit sooner and closer than the others, and Damian did not miss it. In a flash of movement, he ran towards it, his sword leading.

Again, however, this was a vampire, and it recovered swiftly and sent both of its arms out in two opposite swinging chops towards its center. Damian, reacting just a moment too soon for the beast, jumped up, tucking in his legs just inches above the two blades slicing under them, and spinning in the air. He ended the spin with a vicious ax-kick down on the vampire's shoulder. It buckled down a bit from the enormous power of the kick, but remained on its feet long enough for Damian's to hit the floor and he slammed the blade of the sword down into its skull.

The edge of the sword went several inches into its skull before Damian pulled it back out and spun around, and when it left, the vampire's head looked like it had a wedge hammered into it. He had spent only moments killing the vampire, but already when he turned the other six were upon him, and this time they attacked as individuals. One lunged in from the side with two quick stabs and, when Damian blocked them, dodged past him before he could retaliate. It was good he had not attempted, as just after it, two charged from both sides and began a series of spinning slashes and stabs that even Damian could not have survived had he not rolled froward and out of their immediate range. He stopped himself with his hands halfway through the roll and went to the side as twin blades buried into the ground where he would have been, and was on his feet long enough to work his blade with both hands to fend off one beast's incessant attacks.

He could deal with one, though they were all fairly fast, and was just beginning to think about countering when he realized with a start that two were not accounted for in his mental map. He instinctively and desperately lunged to the side even as one of the blades of the two raked across his side. Another was waiting for him when he lunged, and he was forced to swing at it with all of his strength and two hands to stop it from impaling him. It stuck out both of its blades in front of it to block, but even still his strength, momentum, and the power of his sword sent it back, off of its feet, and onto the ground.

He would have loved to follow through and finish it off, but the two who had first attack him ran at him from the front, and he could feel the two that had crept behind him doing the same thing, while the one he had traded blows with stood off to the side to see if he would evade.

'Only one thing to do.' He thought, and he crouched onto the ground and jumped into the air. Not as high as he had in the past, but just enough to go over the vampires around him while still staying under the top of the tent. Just when he thought that he was safe, however, the one that had stayed back intersected him in midair and smashed him back. He batted it to the side as fast as he could as they fell, and even though it blocked it was thrown away as well. He landed on his back, however, and just then felt the pain in his leg and side from where it had stabbed him with its blades when they had collided.

He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, but when he did he realized that he had become disoriented, and was facing the opposite direction from where the snarls of victory were becoming every closer. It was at this moment that he realized he barely had the strength to turn around, and that even if he did he would be killed very swiftly.

It seemed slightly ironic to him, at that moment. He had worked for all of these years until he was finally a first class, and then had been raised in the ranks and spontaneously promoted until now he was, ridiculously, the champion of these armies and seen as something of their only hope left alive against the werepyres. And now he was going to die, killed by creatures spawned by an assassin before the final battle even began. How pathetic.

'No!' He forced himself to spin about and raise his guard, even though he could feel his strength deserting him, and was rewarded by seeing the closest of the beasts get thrown back by an arrow in its heart. The sight marveled Damian's fatigue-addled brain, but he still retained enough of his warrior's reflexes to keep his attention fixed upon the five vampires still alive. Surprisingly, only two charged at him. One stayed back, as they had before, to see what he would do, while the other two ran past him to a place he could not spare the time it would take to look.

When they attacked, however, it was obvious to him that two were enough. One reached him first and slashed out, which Damian forced himself to duck under while shifting his body's weight from one foot to the other and ending the evasive maneuver with a slash. Both of them jumped back just enough for his sword to bass by, and then lunged in. Their four arms came at him as if from one body, and four sharp points shot straight at him. In a rush of movement and decisions, Damian blocked two on the left side by shoving his sword vertically that way, dodged the third by shoving his head to the side, but then found that nothing he could do would deter the last one from striking him, so he kicked up his leg. In his mind, it was a better thing to lose than his life.

Just as the tip neared his knee, however, a blade came from behind him on his right side and slapped it down, robbing it of danger. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back as a vampire stepped between him and the three beasts. Damian stumbled with the jerked movement before finally falling to one knee and looking up. When he saw Othniel in front of him, a sigh escaped his lips. Othniel risked one quick look behind.

"No worries, Damian, I got this."

To the right, Damian heard clashing of metal, and saw Bryce in his elf from fighting off the two vampires that had ran past him moments before. He moved his single two-handed elven sword with such grace and fluidity that it seemed light as a feather, and was able to keep up with the four blades presented him with ease.

Meanwhile, the two vampires that were attacking Damian seemed unsure, and the third was even less determined. They did now know whether to try to kill Damian still, as their orders had said, or try to kill this new one, or even help their two brothers against the elf. Ultimately, their decision was made for them when Othniel, taking advantage of their momentary confusion, lunged at the closest.

Even though it had lost its momentum, its reaction was perfect in that it stabbed out with both of its blades aimed right for his chest. When he twisted to the side, however, and shoved its right wrist out of the way with his left hand, it found that before it knew it, he was inside its guard, with one hand passing behind him, and the other moving to the side. Quick as death, Othniel brought his left hand back in a fold and then shot it out in a palm hand to its face. It could feel its nose crack under the pressure, but refused to give in to the pain. It backed up just a bit and bent its arms at the elbows, intent on running the vampire through. It was, of course, only then that it noticed the strange device barely protruding from Othniel's sleeve, and the small leather strap it had mistaken for a ring around his middle finger. All he did was flick down his middle finger, and with a twang a bolt flew from his sleeve and into the beast's eye.

As the first of them fell to the ground, after barely a moment had passed, Othniel flipped the sword in his hand until it was in a upside-down hold, with the pommel by his thumb and the guard by his smallest finger. As he grabbed his dirk from its sheath, he brought his sword hand back until his arm was a straight line to the ground, and his blade was facing up, and charged the second one. When it swung down with one blade and cocked the other back, he brought his dirk up and angled it upwards so that the blade hit it and slid down until it hit his guard. When it did, he shoved the two weapons to his left as hard as he could, spinning his body with it as well.

The vampire beast, caught of guard and off balance, still shot out its second blade as it had intended, but Othniel's spin took to him to the side of it, and once he was, he finished the spin by bringing up his sword hand with the strange guard and slicing off its head as he passed by. The second one began to fall as well, and now the last one realized that it was the only one left to fight this vampire, and that if it did not attack now, it would be attacked and killed in return. With a snarl, it ran at him and slashed inwards with both of its weapons at once. In response, Othniel planted his feet and placed his sword and dirk out to the sides. With the dirk tilted upwards and the sword tilted down. When the weapons met, just as before, the beast's blades slid along Othniel's until they hit the guards and then they stayed there.

It could tell that it was stronger than he was, especially in the position that they were in, and that if it was just able to overpower him a fraction more, his resistance would break and it would take his head. It was this knowledge that kept it from pulling its blades back and stabbing them into Othniel, as he had planned. They struggled for several moments before Othniel picked up his foot and slammed it down on the beast's exposed knee. With a sharp snap, its leg bent inwards and it let out a cry of pain. He dropped his foot back, and then shot it back out to pound his boot into its chest, shoving it back a few feet, and then kicked one last time and rammed the very tip of it into its chin.

As it recoiled, he dropped both of his arms until they were level with his shoulders and lunged past it, cutting half of an arm and half of its head off with his dirk, and slicing through its torso with his sword. As this one fell in several pieces, Othniel turned and smiled to Damian.

"Booya'!"

But Damian was not looking at Othniel, his gaze fixed on Bryce, who was still battling the two last vampires. He was puzzled by the battle, because by his movements, it was obvious that Bryce was stronger, faster, and had more technical skill than the two of them put together, and yet he seemed to be struggling greatly against their combined attacks now. His blocks were jerky and ill-timed, and he barely seemed aware of their blades. Perspiration was on his face, and he appeared to be concentrating greatly. The vampires, almost sensing his uncertainty, pressed their attacks and began pushing him back. He still blocked all of their attacks with his single blade, but now he was stepping back in order to compensate for them.

It was then, when he had passed close to Damian, that he saw his eyes, and everything made sense. 'He's blind.' It was day, and as such Bryce could not use his lycanthropic abilities like giving himself fake eyes. 'How long has it been since had had to fight blind?'

Even as he was thinking that, though, Bryce blocked up to the right in a straight, perfect block, and stopped a blade on the last inch of its point. Pivoting to the side, he slammed his sword into another blade even closer to the tip, barely centimeters from the end of it. And finally, he brought his sword up and blocked down on two blades stabbing at him. Damian could not tell for sure, but right when the blades met, he could have sworn that their edges were touching, as if Bryce had blocked them at their very ends with his own.

Right after that moment, everything changed. Bryce blocked each and every attack without hesitation, and always at the perfect moment and place. In a few more seconds, he threw out his first counter attack, and that was all it took for one of them. It put out its right blade to block him, and it thought that it had the right placement, but it seemed that, at the very last second, there was a subtle shift in the blade, and it ended its arc right under the end of the blade. The top of his sword literally touched the bottom of its blade, and then it cut through its arm. As its forearm, overburdened, by the blade attached to it, tipped and fell to the ground, and it jumped back as his sword passed through and, losing no momentum, sliced at its face. Bryce lunged with it, only faster. Its eyes widened, and a hiccup of surprise burst out as his beautiful elvish sword slid through its ribs and stabbed into its heart.

He pulled his blade from its chest and whirled around to slap a stab from the last one to the side. The beasts snarled, showings its freakish teeth, and stabbed out one last time with its other weapon. Bryce brought his sword back and stuck it forward with the blade facing forward. Amazingly, when the point of the stab and the edge of the sword met, the two weapons stopped in place, and Damian was finally sure of what Bryce was doing.

'He has spent all of this time measuring their weapons!'

The vampire was obviously as surprised as Damian was, and it had no will left to resist when Bryce spun to the side and sliced through the middle of its head. The fine metal of his sword slit through the skull like flesh. The top of its head, and two halves of its eyes, rolled off of its head and flew through the air to land right-side-up on the ground.

* * *

As Vincent stalked toward him, Dimitrious tried to crawl away, but it was slow going. His skin was slowly peeling away from the wound, decaying, and falling off of his body to disintegrate on the floor. Both of his legs were broken, and the pain from the holy water was excruciating. When Vincent stood over him, he ceased his struggles and looked up.

"Well done," blood spewed from his mouth as he spoke, "I suppose your not just another nothing after all."

"You damn right. Now I hope you've made your peace with whatever it is you bastards serve." He was raising his sword for the final blow when something warned him of danger, and he threw himself back just as a fur-covered leg swung at him. He rolled over his back and then backpedaled several more feet as he saw Dimitrious swiftly morph into a great mass of fur and muscles before lurching to his feet as his body finally fleshed out and his wings flared from his shoulder blades. He was most certainly a werepyre, and his entire body exuded power and strength. His legs were perfectly healed, and while the cut on his chest was not yet healed, it looked so miniscule that it probably would not be noticeably had he not been looking for it.

Blood was still on his teeth when he smiled. "You could not have thought that it would be that easy. I would not have come here without first making sure that I was prepared for anything. Do you see now, little one? This power that I wield is perfect. I am perfect; a superior being. You will die."

"Well, I suppose that it would be anti-climactic if I were to not even the score." Vincent assumed his Other form and once again dropped his shield but kept his sword in his left hand, which was now more like a long knife. "Let's end this."

"Yes, let us." Dimitrious paused for a moment and looked to the side. "only seven minions left, Oh well, they will be more than enough."

"You should be more worried about yourself."

Vincent crouched and sprang forward with a right hook. Dimitrious snapped his head back to his opponent and met the fist with his open palm. When the blow connected, all of the muscles in their arms contracted, and Dimitrious slid back a few feet, but in the end, all of the power from Vincent's strike was absorbed by his one hand. In the momentary lull after the punch, he wrapped his hand around Vincent's wrist and pulled him in while shifting his body and throwing out a gut punch. Using his wings, Vincent lifted his body from the ground and over the strike, and then shot out a kick straight for Dimitrious' snout.

Dimitrious ducked under the blow, turned his body around, grabbed Vincent's trapped wrist with both hands, and slammed him over his back and onto the ground. He picked up his foot to slam it down on Vincent's face, but before he could, Vincent's feet shot up and he shoved the claws of his toes into Dimitrious' hands while pulling his hand away and pushing his legs forward. In only a moment, Dimitrious' hands involuntarily loosened, and Vincent shot away from him. He hit the ground once and then flipped himself up to land on his feet. He could not help but notice that his Other form was almost perfect. That slam into the ground had hurt, but now, only moments after, he barely felt any pain in his back. And that was not even counting his new-found strength, speed, and the strange fact that wounds were not carried over. He could tell that his shoulder blade was undamaged, even though it had almost been torn out earlier.

Vincent charged Dimitrious, but it was the werepyre who moved first. He raised one monstrous fist into the air and slammed it down into the ground. His unearthly strength caused a large cloud of dust to fly up momentarily, and as Vincent squinted and tried to stop his charge forward, he suddenly shot forward. In a very vampiric manner, he used his two voluminous wings to gain speed, and so it was far too late when Vincent noticed him closing the now very small distance between the two of them. He tried to defend, but mistakenly chose to guard his face, and so felt all of the air leave him when he took a straight punch to the chest.

His eyes widened as the blow fully connected with him, and the full picture of just how much stronger the werepyres were was fully shown to him in that moment. The fist dug several inches into his chest, and he heard a few cracks as, with a gasp of surprise and pain, he was thrown back.

'I can't take another one of those!' He frantically thought, and realized that had he not been in his Other form, he would have been killed by that punch. The thought did little to console him, however, as he flipped himself over from where he landed and got to his feet to see Dimitrious fly at him once again. Just moving hurt his splintered chest, which was just barely beginning to heal, but he felt that the damage was nothing life-threatening at the moment, and knew that if he did not move, he would die.

Even with the warning he had received, Dimitrious still moved like lightning, and he barely ducked under a punch he knew would have taken off his head. Using every moment to his advantage, Vincent shifted to the side and behind Dimitrious as his charge carried him past him, and punched out with his right hand to the kidney before stabbing his sword into Dimitrious' back. He felt the flesh and bone give way as he punched in, and knew that his punch was effective, but almost as soon as it ended, they re-knit themselves together, and by the time his punch was back to him, it looked like nothing had happened. The stab had a little more effect, as the wound did not start to heal, but with the entire bulk of Dimitrious, it was not even close to a fatal blow.

Dimitrious swung around with a back knuckle at blinding speed, but Vincent was once again able to duck under it. He was about to attack back once again, but then Dimitrious finished the spin with a round kick to the stomach. Vincent could almost already feel his spine breaking from the blow, and he could not dodge the blow, so he placed both of his forearms in a guard to prepare for it. Even with the solid defense though, he was still blown back like so many leaves by the sheer brutality of the werepyre's strength. He flew through the air once again, but this time Dimitrious was right next to him before he had even hit the ground.

"Damn."

Dimitrious pulled his right arm back and slammed it down. Once again, Vincent could see his death in the blow, even if he tried to block it or dodge it. In fact, he most certainly would have died, with the fist punching a hole through his body and into the ground, except that right before it hit he used its own arm as leverage to save himself. He shoved his arms against the wrist of the werepyre with all of his strength. Of course, his effort did nothing to move the werepyre, or his arm, but since he was in the air, it did move Vincent out from under it and even quite a ways away.

As Dimitrious' punch once again decimated the ground under him, and another cloud of dust was raised, Vincent decided to use Dimitrious' tactics against him. He was well outside of the cloud, while the werepyre was in the middle of it, and this time Dimitrious was not able to see Vincent until it was too late for him to stop the fist that flew at him and smashed his snout in. His body rocked back and he began flailing about as his face took on a singularly flat appearance from the efforts of a wing-assisted flying punch. In another moment, Vincent brought his left hand around and sliced another line across Dimitrious' chest, only in the opposite direction, and finally shoved his sword into the middle of his chest. He should have leapt back as soon as he first attacked, however, as before he could now, one of Dimitrious' flailing arms caught him and bowled him over.

"Arrgh! Damn you!" Dimitrious screamed through his indented mouth. He was surely in a sorry condition, but Vincent was no better. His back felt broken from Dimitrious' last random attack, and even in his Other form he could do nothing save watch the werepyre and hope he would be able to move before Dimitrious could find him. Even that hope left him, however, and as he watched in horror, Dimitrious grabbed his face with his claws and ripped it outwards. It was something only barely resembling a snout, but apparently that was enough for his healing factor, which quickly morphed his broken and bloody mockery of a face into what it had been minutes ago.

As he turned, grinned, and stalked forward, Vincent sighed in despair. He suddenly felt like he had before he had become a vampire, when he had battled Damian. He felt totally helpless again, like he was fighting something completely different than he. Like he was fighting a true immortal.

'Once again, I can't move, and here comes my enemy to finish me. I only hope he actually does it quick this time, not like that bastard Damian.' He closed his eyes from exhaustion and surrender. He was finished struggling.

But just then a gloved hand covered his closed eyes, and a voice, Othniel's voice, whispered. "Keep your eyes closed and open your mouth."

Just as he did he heard Dimitrious screaming in pain, but that lost his interest as he felt warm blood flow down his mouth. His hyper-active, Other form regenerative system shot into effect as soon as it felt the blood it craved and required, and in moments he felt as if the entirety of the battle up until now had not happened.

"Okay, you can open them now." Othniel took away his hand and took a few steps back.

When he did so, the first thing he saw was Dimitrious on the ground writhing under a beam of pure light coming from the side. He immediately had to avert his eyes, however, as just looking at the light almost blinded him. Just from looking at him, he could tell that, if that light were to touch him, he would lose whatever fell under it. It was not just light to him, at that moment. It seemed more like holiness incarnate. Like judgment. To his right he heard Damian grunt, as if he were lifting something very heavy.

"I cannot...keep this up for much longer. Vincent, when The light ends, you must destroy him. Neither I, Othniel, nor Bryce have the strength right now."

Vincent nodded his agreement and stood, testing out his limbs and ribs. He honestly still felt like he had just entered the fight.

"Grh, I cannot...Now Vincent!" Instantly the light faded, and Vincent brought his eyes down to see Damian collapse to the floor and Dimitrious leap to his feet. His fur was singed and still burning at the tips, which amazed Vincent, as he wondered how the beast could still be alive. What really looked strange to Vincent, however, was that all of the cuts he had placed with his sword, and most noticeably the three on the chest, were glowing with a bright light. Almost as if to match his strange wounds, Dimitrious' eyes also glowed with fury, and his voice was a low, guttural growl when he spoke.

"Dead, dead, all of you will be dead. I'll murder you all."

Even as he spoke, though, and a chill flowed down Vincent's spine, a thought entered his brain, and he smiled in defiance.

"Well, why don't you just start with me then. We have unfinished business." He flew forward as fast as possible, and at the very first he could tell the difference in not only himself but in his opponent as well. He had not noticed how Dimitrious had slowed before, but that was because he himself had slowed to an even greater degree. Now he was as fast as possible, and Dimitrious had slowed.

It seemed that Dimitrious himself had not noticed the difference yet, as he took time to speak instead of move. "Fool, you cannot kill me! I am immo—"

His words were cut off by a hook across the face, and as he stumbled back Vincent's sword flashed twice across his chest, once horizontal and the other vertical. Looking down at his chest, Dimitrious seemed to finally notice his situation, and he quickly backpedaled to make distance between the two of them. Vincent was determined to not let that happen, and he launched himself toward the other as fast as possible.

Even though he flew forward with all of his strength, and blinding speed, Dimitrious had seen many faster fighters in his lifetime, and even though he was moving back, he was able to strike first.

"Die!" He yelled as he punched out with all of his might in a straight line for intersecting Vincent's flight.

Vincent smiled, however, and only slightly shifted his wings upward and then them shoved down again. The result was a slight rise, just slight enough to barely take him over the punch and then plunge him to the ground, right inside Dimitrious' guard. Before Dimitrious could even begin to register the change, he shot two swift but devastating punches right into his his chest, and with satisfaction, saw that the wounds at least did not immediately heal.

Not bothering to see if they healed later, Vincent ducked under one last desperate punch by Dimitrious, and then flared up his wings and used his bent knees and a flap from them to shoot his head directly into the glowing marks. His head hit the chest like a battering ram, and the two spikes he had for horns penetrated the chest as all of his power crashed into it as well. Such was the power, and damage done, that Dimitrious lifted off of the ground several feet before landing back on it on his feet. He could not even begin to respond to the situation before Vincent lunged at him one last time.

He pulled back one hand, straightened the fingers until his hand resembled a knife, and then stabbed it into the werepyre's chest. His claws pierced through the battered flesh, and he encountered little resistance from the muscles and bones. His hand went in almost past the forearm, and when he yanked it back out, there was an oversized werepyre heart attached to it. Large veins still connected it to its parent host, and Dimitrious watched in horror as Vincent slashed them in two with one swipe of his other clawed hand.

Once those cords were cut, and the blood spewed from them like faucets before Vincent grabbed them all in one hand and staunched them, it was like everything changed for Dimitrious. He began screaming. Loud and high pitched. Not as a woman would scream, or even a child, but like a siren, ear piercing and otherworldly. He slowly morphed down into his vampire fore, and his mouth was open far more than seemed possible. Slowly, all over his body, cuts and stabs began to form and spew. It was as if all of those from his fights over the millennium were finally showing, and there were hundreds of them.

"Lucifer! Lucifer Save me!" He somehow yelled in a normal voice while still screaming in the background. The cuts and stabs continued to increase in number and depth, until finally his body fell to pieces onto the ground, and even then his limbs still continued to be chopped into smaller and smaller pieces. Only his head remained attached to his torso, and still he screamed.

"Lucifer! Lucif—" He stopped, and the sudden absence of sound of any kind was far more unnerving than his screaming had ever been. Even the pain left his ruined face, and in the silence his eyes moved around his skull quickly, searching. For a moment he squinted, as if trying to look at something that was far off, and then his eyes flew open, and an expression of complete, mindless fear enveloped his face. Never before had any of them seen such a complete example of pure horror. This time his scream was one of pathetic fear, not pain, and even though he had only stubs of arms and legs left, he tried desperately to crawl away from whatever it was he had seen.

"No! No!" He was somehow screaming even louder than before, which made Vincent suddenly wonder how he was doing so with lungs and heart as destroyed as they were. It would not be the strangest thing he had ever seen in this forest, though.

"Stay away! Someone, anyone! Save me!" He still screamed, and rocked back and forth in his pitiful attempt at escaping, succeeding only in rolling himself over so that he could only see the ground around him. Not being able to see only increased his frenzied struggles, and finally was able to get back up onto his back. Once he did, it looked like he was going to continue screaming, but then his face turned deathly pale, and with almost white eyes he turned his face to Damian and spoke in an almost-inaudible whisper.

"Damian. Damian please save me. That's what you do, right? You save people. Please keep him away from me." The calm in his voice, which was so sudden compared to screaming of earlier, sent chills down Vincent's spine. He saw Damian, who had recovered himself from his earlier collapse, but whose skin looked red like a human who had spent too much time in the sun, walk toward Dimitrious hesitantly. Unconsciously, his voice was also quiet.

"Keep who from you, Dimitrious? Who is after you?"

Even though he had just asked for help, Dimitrious now did not even seem to be listening. He was looking afar off. Damian tried once again, slightly louder.

"Dimitrious, from who?"

The abrupt break of the silence jerked Dimitrious' head around to Damian, and then he spoke again, his voice so quiet humans would not even be able to catch it.

"He's coming." Vincent thought he heard a footstep to the side, and turned, but nothing was there. "He's playing with me." He saw Othniel spin about, his sword and dirk in hand, and then spin around once again, his eyes wide. "He's skirting around me like a wolf with prey." Even Bryce deepened his stance, closed his eyes, and grabbed his sword's hilt in one hand. "I can feel him, but then he's gone." A shadow to the side, just at the very edge of his vision, caused Vincent's head to snap to the side. Again, nothing. "He's...He's..." His words had gradually began to slow, and his head lull to the side, but suddenly he jerked his head back to Damian and spoke with shocking clarity. "He's here." Then, as clear as day, the air in the middle of them began to darken and shimmer, and for some reason he could not understand, Vincent suddenly felt very cold. A shiver ran down his back.

A dark split appeared in the air, but when it opened into a black circle, only a man walked out. He was a stately man, dressed very primly in a completely white military-like suit that seemed to glow just a bit. His face was without a doubt beautiful, but the smile on it seemed completely out of place. His eyes were pure blue, his hair even more white than his suit, and it hung down completely straight all around his head, reaching almost to his shoulders. He had a manly physique, but still seemed slightly feminine. Vincent had no idea who it was, but when he looked to Damian, he saw immediate recognition. Then he remembered what Dimitrious had screamed, and wondered if this was, in fact, Lucifer. The man looked around at everyone and increased his smile to a point just passed what should be possible, and then spoke.

"Damian! What a pleasant surprise." His voice was high, but tempered. With that and the way he slightly twirled his fingers in excitement, he definitely looked effeminate to Vincent. "I had not expected to see you alive still. Smart work you made of my general, by-the-way, smashing victory. You simply must take better care of your body, though, what would happen if it gave out on you? What would be fun about that?" He walked up to Damian with feet that seemed to barely touch the ground with each step. He stopped in front of him and swept his eyes over him. For a moment his eyes caught on the sword still in Damian's hand, and the expression on his face turned to one of complete disgust and even anger, but in another moment t was gone like it had never been there.

"I see you were the one chosen to carry around that horrible sword. Does it really hurt as much as they say? I honestly can't tell you how happy I was when I watched Vladimir," He paused for a moment, his eyes rolling back and forth in the top of his head. "Or whatever his name was, stab E. And I was even happier when I saw him die. It just feels like a personal accomplishment of sorts, I suppose. I was hoping that he would come and visit me afterwards, but it seems he wasn't able to make our appointment. A shame, that, I had some delightful events planned for his stay. But oh well, how have you been, been eating your blood regularly? You're looking a little thin. Oh!"

Just as fast as he had begun the conversation, he spun and swayed to Vincent, who was just now changing back into his normal form, and feeling the back of his shoulder. "My my, now aren't you just a wonderful little specimen, you. A very good choice, Damian. Definitely worth keeping alive. Hmm, yes, one of the best I've seen in a very long time. Oh," He stopped abruptly, lost his smile, and cocked his head to the side, his now-black eyes boring into Vincent's. After a moment he straightened his head and his eyes were blue once again. "and I like what I see in your heart. Very good, you should definitely follow through with those thoughts of yours. Speaking of hearts, you should probably eat Dimitrious' heart soon, or you're going to lose some of the precious blood you've tried so hard to attain. Ah, wait, let me do it." He stretched out his hand, and the ends of the veins from the heart closed themselves up. "There you go, now... Oooo! Who's this?"

Once again, he was off, and he swept along the ground as flamboyantly as ever to Bryce, who's hand still rested on his sword's handle. "Now here's a nice face. An elf, right? Wait," He closed his eyes and thrust his hands into the air dramatically. "I'm also picking up signs of werewolf as well. First class too." His face took on a look of curiosity as he bent over and looked into Bryce's empty eye sockets. "Ew, that's pretty nasty, werelf, you know I could fix that for the small price of nine ninety-five."

"I've got it covered." Bryce spoke stiffly. He had his face averted from the man in front of him, as if looking him in the face was painful somehow.

"Ha-hah, so I see. Oh, that's right, you're Bryce, how could I have forgotten? You've done some wonderful things, both for me and against me. My favorite had to have been when you ate that dwarf and when you beat Damian to a pulp so that you could save a werepyre. Yep, beautiful work, I cried. It's funny, but you're more important to this entire orchestration than you ever could have been as just an..." He took on a look of comedic disgust and flicked his hands as if trying to clean them. "eye-sight impaired elf. In fact, you might become very useful to me, yes. You're definitely one I'm going to be paying very close attention to you. Very," he reached out one hand and ran his strangely-long and sharp fingernails along the rim on Bryce's jaw. "Very close attention. Tata!"

To his credit, Bryce had not moved when being caressed by him, and even did not let out the sigh of relief he had obviously felt when he finally danced off to finish his circle. The last he came in front of was Othniel, who was shaking for a reason he did not understand. When he reached him, he pranced forward a bit, and Othniel jerked back a bit in response, keeping the distance between them.

"Awww," He chuckled. "you're afraid of me, aren't you? Even though you think that you have no reason to be. Trust me, you should believe your instincts on this one. You should most certainly be afraid of me, but not at the moment! Now let's see, hmmm..." once again he cocked his head the the side, with his thumb and forefinger stroking his chin. When he straightened, though, there was a quizzical look on his face. "Well, that's strange... there's really nothing very special about you, is there? Nothing at all. In fact, what I'm wondering about is why Damian even allowed someone as...nobodyish as you around him. Hmm, probably just needed to have a full group or something. Or maybe you're the comic relief. What was your name again? Wait, nevermind, doesn't really matter now does it? Because it's not like I'll ever have to think of you again after this moment. Although... you do have a very nice face. Yep, very pretty. If you ever visit my realm be sure to look me up, I'll keep you close to me." He leaned in so close that Othniel could feel his breath on his neck. "Very close." He whispered, before spinning around and walking off. Unlike Bryce, Othniel collapsed to his knees when it was over, looking completely exhausted.

Smiling from enjoyment, Lucifer walked away and finally saw the last of the inhabitants of the tent. He squealed in delight and skipped to him before bending over and placing his hands on his knees.

"Well now, if it isn't the man of the hour. My liaison to the vampires for at least a thousand years or so. Ah, now don't you look terrible. Here, let me fix that." With a wave of his hand, Dimitrious' body floated into the air, righted itself, and then all of the other countless pieces floated up and joined to it. In moments he looked like nothing had ever happened, and then he was set back to the earth. His eyes were full of fear still, and once he hit the ground, he spun around and began to run away. Once he took his first step, however, his leg fell apart into the parts it had been before, swiftly followed by the rest of his body. Once his torso hit, alone once again, where it had rested before, Lucifer doubled over laughing.

"Ah, rats. I guess I never really was very good at fixing problems, was I? I'm more of a troublemaker than a trouble-solver. But oh, man, you should look at yourself right now, Dmitri. All of these years you've served me and done my bidding well. You were never killed, and so I blessed you. You always knew, though, what would happen if you misused my gifts, and failed with them. What's even more funny is the fact that you've had these abilities for so long that you take them for granted and consider them yours, rather than what they are. In almost every fight you've been in since about five hundred years ago, if not for the abilities I've granted you, you would have been killed. It just had to happen that you'd meet someone who was able to counter those abilities, wasn't it."

He walked up and placed his hand of Dimitrious' back. He raised it again, and Dimitrious followed, just an inch below his palm. "Yep, you got overconfident, old man, and now look at you. You're a failure." His voice got slightly deeper, and anger and disgust crept in. "you've seen how I deal with failures, haven't you? I recall you laughing at them when you saw me torturing them. You should have taken it as the warning it was, and become cautious. But no, you swore that it would never happen to you, and believed it too, and you laughed at them, secure in the knowledge that you would never fail." He smirked. "And now you have, Dimitrious, and I've come to collect the debt you owe for these last thousand years, plus interest. Believe me, I intend to get every penny back from you, and even more."

His voice just a hoarse gasp, Dimitrious hung limply from where he was suspended in the air. "No, I could...I could still fix this if you'd...just give me some more power."

Lucifer's smile faded, and he jerked his hand up, bringing Dimitrious and him face to face. Fury was in his face, and his voice was now a deep, distorted scream. "More power! I've given you far more than you ever deserved. I brought you from nothing to the third strongest in the land! And what have I received in payment? Nothing! No, you've used up your contract, and now it's time to fulfill your end of the deal!"

When he brought the body back down, his smile was back up, and even his eyes smiled with it, disturbingly. "I'm sorry you all had to see and hear that. I hope it won't keep you from taking my hand when the time comes for me to extend it to you. As you can see, and will see, failure is not tolerated more than once, and the price to be paid at the end of the journey is high, but I can assure you with great certainty that none of you will survive the battle you are going into without my help. Just think of what I was able to do to this worm, a nobody, and what I could do with almost all of you, who are mighty warriors...Well, except for you, Othy. You will accept my power, and at my terms, before you're done, and we'll live a very long time together, mark my words."

He walked lithely back to the portal, with the body and head of Dimitrious jerking and screaming for help at every step. When he reached it, he tossed Dimitrious' still screaming body into it and then walked in himself. For a moment, nothing happened, and then he stuck his head back out and said gayly.

"Be seein' you soon, boys."

His head jerked back inside and the portal slowly closed back after him. Nobody moved or spoke for a very long time, maybe ten or twenty minutes, until finally it was Othniel who stood to his feet and sighed.

"I think I pissed myself."

It was as if a string had snapped, and then as one they breathed out breaths they had not known they had kept in. Damian and Bryce chuckled, while Vincent smiled. He looked down at the heart in his hand, then at the pile of limbs left of Dimitrious, and finally to Damian, who nodded his head. Vincent then put the heart to his lips, stuck his teeth into it and drank all of its blood before finally eating the flesh as well. It tasted completely delicious, far better than the other hearts he had eaten. It was like it had gotten better with age like a fine wine.

In another moment, his mind was bombarded by thousands of years worth of experiences, knowledge, emotions, and events. He almost blacked out entirely at the information dump, but he stubbornly kept on looking, amazed by all that this vampire had seen. Many years simply passed by in an instance, and only moments of great importance stayed for even a moment. It seemed to take a lifetime, but when he opened his eyes and saw that he was kneeling Damian was still walking to him.

He stood back up and swiftly thought over all that had happened. Much of it caught his interest, but two specific facts blared out past all of the others. The first one he began to speak.

"Damian, Lueke, he's—"

"I know, Vincent, N'colto told me before he died." Damian put his hand to the others shoulder before passing him by. "That's why I think we may have a chance at winning this war."

"I noticed as well, the first moment I saw him, and was going to bring it up at the meeting of war." Bryce took his hand from his sword and stood motionlessly except to rub his empty eye sockets, as if having the evil presence gone was a relief.

Vincent turned to keep Damian in his sight. "But how can that be possible?"

Damian walked to his bed and dropped the sword on the ground in front of it before sitting down on it. "I don't know, but we're going to find out."

"Wait," Othniel walked between them and looked from one to the other. "What?"

Damian smiled again. "You'll find out at the meeting, Othniel."

As Othniel voiced his disapproval, Vincent thought about the second fact that he had understood, and nothing he thought about comforted him. 'Lucifer was right. We will all die without his help.'


	26. A Deep Breath

26

A Deep Breath

Damian had wasted very little time falling asleep on his bedding. Even despite the presence of the twelve dead vampires and their pools of blood on his floor, he found that rest came swiftly. His sleep was dreamless, and he could only be thankful for that in his own unconscious way, as any dreams would surely be driven by his first physical meeting with Lucifer and all that he had learned. Such dreams would very doubtfully be pleasant, and the even stranger dreams were still not preferable to the blissful vacuum of oblivion that came with a dreamless sleep. All cares, worries, and fears were gone from him, completely forgotten past the point of recollection. All that there was, was nothing, and it was comforting. Even beautiful. He wondered if this was what death would be like, and for a moment thought, if it was, it was a mystery why men and immortals alike feared it.

Why had he fought for so long against death if it was this beautiful? If such blissful oblivion really awaited all, without evidence of all of the weights that drag one down in living or of the ever-present feeling of pointlessness, then why had he feared it? If this was true, then would it have been better to starve in the alley rather than stab that woman, better to be lynched by his gang than defile the woman, better to let the bandits live and sacrifice himself, better to let the Wulf live with his actions, and simply have given himself up into the arms of the ever-comforting darkness which now covered him like a warm blanket.

But then, he wondered, if death were so painless, and welcoming, then why would he fear it? Was it his sense that if he had given up, he would have failed? Was it that he had a drive inside him greater than any other to continue his existence, to never surrender to the black hands always clutching at his back? Was his fierce battle with death born out of ignorance, or nature? Many times he had been close to death, breathing his own blood, and never had he felt this calmness, this relief, this loss of urgency. Death was pain. Death was torment. Death was knowing that his entire life was pointless, and accepting it. Death was defeat.

So then death could not be how he felt at that moment. Or could it? No answers would come to him in his unconscious mind. But it was then that he realized that this was not a dreamless sleep, else otherwise thoughts would not permeate it, but rather it was a dream of nothing. What must be driving this thought-provoked dream he did not know, but now that he realized it he felt that even a dream with Lucifer in it would be preferable. He felt wrong for having this dream, with its beauty and perfection, while others had nightmares or could not sleep at all. He did not deserve his sanctuary. He was not worthy of a beautiful death, or of a life after death.

And yet, he could not force himself from the dream, even though he did try, as one does when one is asleep. Even as he did try, however, he could not be completely certain that he really wanted to leave the beauty that surrounded him. He had a thought that this must be what a child feels while it is still inside the womb of its mother. The complete sense of safety, invulnerability, and warmth he had not felt in the entirety of his life before this dream. He felt like a door opened to him. A feeling he never knew existed swept over his entire body, and it made him want to convulse with its power. At first he could not tell what the feeling that clenched through his body was, as he had never experienced it before, but slowly he began to realize exactly what it was. It was peace.

His hands went to his face, and his body pulled itself together until he was in a fetal position. His mouth opened and closed, sometimes slowly and relaxed, and other times straining as if he were screaming at the top of his lungs. No sounds came from him, though, as he sat curled in the darkness and drowned in the silence. When he felt the dampness running down his cheeks, though, he felt rage build inside him. He flung himself open on the blank solid in front of him, dug his nails through the resisting nothing, before finally lifting his hate-filled head to the darkness above him. Finally finding a voice, all he could do was scream.

"Let me go!" He beat his head with his hands. "Let me leave!" digging his nails into his face, he cut deep bloody furrows down it before standing to his feet to continue screaming. "I'm wretched, dirty, filthy, disgusting. I'm murderous, vengeful, worthless." The blood running down his face obscured the tears that flew freely with them. He flung his arms and body around with his words. "I've killed the innocent. Men, women, children. I'm just like that damn Wulf! I'm evil! I'm nothing!" He slumped back to the ground, his feet under him, his hands resting on the floor, his back bent, and his head flung backwards. His entire body wracked with sobs as his screams lost their meaning and devolved to animalistic shrieks of anguish. When those subsided, he was left with nothing, his face was streaked, his body beaten, and the worst part was that he still felt the warmth, comfort, and peace from before.

"I'm just...scum."

"I know."

Instantly Damian's eyes shot awake, and he jerked up and looked around, his eyes wide, and his heart beating wildly, like he was in the middle of a fight to the death. His head swept the room swiftly, and he turned his body with it. He was alone, but he barely felt like it anymore. He had heard that voice. Not in his dream, but right next to his ear. It had woken him, and his breath still came swiftly.

Despite all he had felt and heard, however, there was no one in his tent. After one last, breathless second, he strained every sense to the max, but still he received nothing. At last he calmed, and his breathing slowed.

"Well, I suppose it was noth—" just then a drop fell on his foot, and it was at that moment he realized that he was crying. His adrenaline at being awakened had dulled his sense of touch, but now he could feel the dampness, even more poignant than in his dream, flow down his face. He placed his hand to his face, and it came back shining in the dim light. At first it did not phase him, but then the thought struck him that not once, in the last hundred years since he became a vampire, and also many years before that, had he ever cried. What could have happened in that dream that could have possibly—

There was a scratch at the flap of his tent, a sign for entrance, like knocking on a door, and he spun around. He should have heard the two vampires walking up to his entrance. He walked up to the other side, but did not open it.

"What is it?" His voice sounded like it always had.

The second class vampire on the other side paused, confused. "Um, the Matriarch requires your presence sir. The last council of all of the races will convene very soon, and as such all figures of importance are being called. Please come quickly."

"I will." Damian assured them, and after he heard them leave, he threw on his trench coat, large hat, gloves, boots, and stuck the Sword of Office in his belt. It's presence would be enough, he imagined, no need for unnecessary pain. Finally, he ran his sleeve over his face until it felt dry. When his sleeve came away, his face was stone once more. 'There is no time for any of that.'

Composed now, he withdrew from his tent and walked out into the twilight. The sun was not completely set, but it was fairly close to the mountains in the distance. This could be the time when it was the most dangerous, as at times the rays came almost straight at them. The sun was also weakest at this point, however, so the danger was lessened. It could still kill easily, of course, but now would be the time that a few mistakes would be lived through.

Even if he had not seen the large pavilion being erected earlier that day, he could have very easily guessed where it was, as there seemed to be a general shift of all of the inhabitants of the camp toward it. It looked almost like a slow-moving river of bodies, flowing through the small alleys and large roads made by the tents scattered everywhere. He joined one stream and allowed himself to be moved by it until he reached the pavilion, at which point he pushed his way through and was admitted.

The pavilion was the exact same one as was used before the battle of the last night, but when he entered it for the second time, Damian could easily sense the change. No longer was there a quiet sense of assurance. No one believed that they had a fool-proof plan that would finally end the century-long war. Instead of uneasiness tempered with hope, all he felt when he entered was despair. It lay heavy over everything, like a net that constantly bound itself together the more the one in it struggled. Many different races sat in the seats, but on all of them was the same, melancholic expression. None believed that they would be reassured by this meeting. All believed that they would die, and Damian could hardly say that he was different.

Still, what he also felt, as he stepped towards the captain's seats, which was now only a little over half-filled, was a steel-hard determination. All of them felt that they would die, and yet here they were, to learn what it was they must do to fight. All of those here had effectively given up their lives to stay. He wondered why they did, although he figured he knew. Some, like Samael, stayed because they knew that what was coming was going to be the best fight of their lives. They knew that there was nothing stronger than the werepyres in this forest, and maybe in the world, and they did not even have to track it down. They lived to fight, and the best fight of their lives was coming at them.

Others, like the other captains, he assumed, probably stayed because of honor. They had pledged themselves to serve their masters, and even though they knew death would come, they still stayed simply because they had given their word to do so. Damian did not know completely, but he figured that he was one of these. In the back of his mind, he knew that he could try to leave any time he wanted, but he also knew he never would.

And almost all of the others, he could tell, stayed because they had not yet figured out that they could leave. Their current lives were so integrated within them that they knew no other way. Darkovia was their home, and always would be. There was no place for werewolves, or vampires outside of Darkovia any longer. Without their dark forest, they could not survive. They were not accustomed to being hated and maligned, to fight to the death for every meal. They knew, whether consciously or not, that they had only Darkovia, and that to leave would be worse than death.

He sat in his seat, and thought that he had finished his thoroughly unnecessary analysis, but then he saw Bryce, who was standing on the raised platform in the middle with his Vampire Slayer garb on, and he remembered that there was one other group. They were very small, maybe five or ten at most. In fact, they might only number one man. They were those who stayed simply because they thought that it was right to do so.

'I guess good really does exist.' He smiled slightly and sat back, letting his head fall onto the back of his chair and daydreaming until he heard the Matriarch's voice finally call the session into its beginning. Her voice split through his mindless thoughts like a song through the silence of night, and he shot up in his seat once he heard it. She stood on the platform with a man who Damian assumed must be the werewolf King, as he was large and extremely well muscled, Sophitia, Bryce, and the leader of the paladins.

She was dressed in a red, flowing gown that ended in a skirt which went down to the knees and was slit on one side. It was attached to her by stiff, form-fitting body armor that glistened in the dim candle-light like it was made of silver. The sleeves of the gown were connected to the dress by small points near her armpits, and they only went to her elbows. They bared her shoulders and gave her complete motion. Her black hair, completely straight down as always, went behind and in front of her shoulders to about her chest, and her lips were as red as her eyes. Her pale skin was the bright white midday sun high overhead, her dress, lips, and eyes were the beautiful crimson sunset, and her dark, voluminous hair was the pitch black of midnight. Looking at her, he had to add to what he had thought before.

'And I suppose there is beauty in this world as well... Damn."It brought another smile to his face, and then Safiria began to speak. Even though her words were of little report, the sound of them itself made it worth listening to. She introduced the werewolf King, who, as Damian had guessed, was the large man up there with her. He was dressed in a surprising amount of finery. A large, purple robe that almost covered him, but that left a slit along the chest and showed just a fraction of his impressively muscled body. Rings adorned his fingers, a crown his head, and flowing pants his legs.

Despite all of his trappings, however, he still cut an impressive figure, a true king, in every sense of the word. When he spoke, it was the first time Damian had ever heard his voice, and it amazed him that the person he had been battling for so long was now his ally, and one of his strongest allies, at that.

'War is a strange thing,' he mused.

The King's voice was powerful, deep, and full of vitality. It carried on its own, and made Damian want to listen just by hearing it.

"Fellow warriors, I am the werewolf King. You all know the problem that we face tonight, and none of you would be blamed if you were to run from the battle that must take place in mere hours. However, we may be the only army in existence with even a chance at defeating the werepyres, and I will not run from this fight, even if it means death. Our chances of victory are slim, and our chances of survival are even smaller, but even so, I pledge myself, and any of my werewolves who will follow me, to this battle. We will die before we admit defeat!"

There was a chorus of screams, cheers, and even howls, as the human-form werewolves in the pavilion, and then the rest outside, echoed through the forest. The sound was deafening, and it was obvious what the werewolves had chosen as their fate, and also where their allegiances lay. Their brays were deathly intense, and it only increased as the werewolves released their anger and frustration at not gaining victory, their fear of death, and their exhilaration for the upcoming fight into their screams. Their power was like a self-feeding beast, building in intensity and power until finally hitting a crescendo, and then quickly fading down into silence. Many panted as they sat down.

Next Safiria herself walked to the front of those gathered on the stage. She surveyed the crowd all around her, and then the surviving captains, all of whom nodded silently. When she spoke again, her voice was full of determination.

"As Matriarch of the vampires, I pledge our service to this war. We will fight along with the werewolves once more, and with all others who will join us. Now is not the time for ancient..." She paused, and for some reason, Damian thought that she was thinking of E. "grudges and prejudices to hold us back. We must unite, and we will kill as many of those beasts as we can."

As Damian and all of the other vampires cheered—not nearly as loud as the werewolves had, but loud enough to make their determination known—the thought suddenly struck him that Safira had never really been the leader of the vampires before this moment. She had always seemed very far away, spoke rarely, and commanded even less often. She had always let Vladimir, or some other Patriarch, do all of the hard work, but now he was no more, and for once, she was the sole leader of the vampires. And, maybe for the first time in her life, she seemed like she actually wanted it tonight.

As she stepped back, Bryce and the Paladin Commander stepped forward, and Bryce spoke for both of them. His voice was steady, and even though Damian could tell that he felt strange speaking for the vampire slayers, he could tell that Bryce knew there were none left besides him to speak for his faction.

"I, Bryce Kyrcerin, temporary leader of the vampire slayers, and in tandem with the paladins, pledge both of out armies to this final battle."

At first, there was no response, and Damian could feel the tension. All of the vampire slayers, and also the paladins, knew that Bryce was a werewolf, which was what they had sworn to kill. How could they be expected to serve under a beast? The silence stretched on for many painful moments, until finally he heard a clap far off in the back of the tent. Like a crack in a dam, once that one person clapped, all of the other vampire slayers, and the paladins as well, turned into a roar, as they slammed their hands together and stood from their seats. The cacophony continued for several minutes before it finally died down, and when it did Damian smiled. They had accepted Bryce as their leader.

When they had finished, and Bryce and the Paladin Commander stepped back, and grave smile on Bryce's face, a large Chiroptera flew down into the center of the crowd and looked around. It waited a moment for complete silence, and then spoke.

"We are sorry, my friends, but the Chiroptera cannot join in this battle. Too many of our race have died already, and we must save ourselves."

Safiria smiled compassionately. "That is acceptable. I hold your side of our agreement fulfilled, and I promise that our side will be as well. Go in peace, sister."

The Chiroptera flew out of the tent, followed by the other nine that remained alive. Damian felt something strange in the back of his throat when he thought of N'colto, who had given his life not only that his people could live, but that Damian could as well. He had done what he did on just the barest possibility that his people could forever be saved from being hunted, and Damian could only hope that it had been enough. Sophitia walked forward, and her appearance was at first a shock to Damian, until he remembered that her brother had been killed in battle, and that now she was the last remaining of her line. She was the ruler of the necromancers: The Lich Queen.

She stood, and there was no joy in her eyes, or even life, it seemed. There was only a cold, empty feeling. He recognized it from seeing it in her brother's eyes, and in Safiria's not long before. It was the look of those who had to care not only for themselves, but for every single being under their command. It was the look of a ruler, and none envied it. When she spoke, her voice was amplified by a spell, and Damian had a feeling that it was also sent directly to all of the necromancers via a mind-link.

"I, Sophitia the Lich Queen, say that the necromancers will devote all of our people to fighting this war. However, we are a people, and not an army. I command none to stay, and any who wishes to may leave. If you have a family that depends upon you, if you have a spouse, or if you were wounded in the last battle, then please escape. However, know that if you leave when you have none of these problems, you will never be accepted back into our society. Out of all of the armies that are fighting here, we have the most to lose, and yet will face the least physical danger in the battle. Do this for our people, do this for your children, and their children. Show those who consider themselves immortals, and those who consider themselves to be light and justice incarnate that we, those they have shunned and hunted, are a people of honor, valor, and virtue!"

The necromancers, a society built on individualism, greed, and a strict social system, had actually began to clap and shout, when suddenly all present felt a dark energy at the entrance to the tent. All heads spun to the large opening, and standing there, clapping with the others, was a being none had seen. It was a cloaked figure, with a long, black hooded robe that tattered at the bottom and at the sleeves. From under the tattered ends of the bottom, no legs were visible. It seemed that it was floating in the air without them, and many would have doubted that anybody was inside the robe at all, for the hood of the cloak was pulled over the face, obscuring any vision at all, if not for the two gloved hands that clacked together unnaturally.

A dark aura surrounded the figure, and all instinctively reached for their weapons, except for two. When Sophitia saw the specter, her eyes widened, and then she ran sprinting towards it. Othniel, after seeing Sophitia run, also ran to the other with all of his strength. As it was, he reached about as fast as she, and when she did, she stopped and looked at it with narrowed eyes. The figure watched her as well, for a moment, but then it laughed a single, unearthly shriek, and threw back its cowl. When it did, all of the necromancers gasped, some screamed, and Sophitia gazed in amazement.

"Skull?" She whispered, in disbelief.

His face, or rather, what seemed more like a semi-transparent model of his face transposed over his tell-tale bone structure, grinned.

"Yes, sister." His voice hollow and forced, as if it echoed off of himself before passing to the rest of them, and all found it extremely unnerving.

"H-How are you alive!" She yelled and ran to him. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his waist area. She felt only bones between her arms, and could also tell that he had nothing below the pelvis. Still, she could feel him, like she had for so many years when they were children. She knew it was him, and this knowledge of having him back, after only just coming to terms with the fact that he was dead, made her lose herself. She buried her face in his cloak and began to cry. He placed a hand on her back comfortingly, and replied.

"I passed the final test in my death, sister. I have become a true Lich. I am here to offer my great powers to this war, and also to steal away the control of our nation away from your conniving hands." She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes and smiled. She knew what he was doing.

She tried to compose herself and act like they always had. "Very well, I suppose there's nothing I can do against the power of a Lich. I rescind our people to you."

"Ah, thank you," He said flippantly. "Now," He turned his head around to regard all of the necromancers in the pavilion, and also those he could see from the entrance, "I say what my sister said, we will fight. However, all of us will fight. The men, women, and children. Those with wives, children, parents, ailments, and even those already dead. Let it not be said that, in our last battle, the Necromancers gave any less than all others. We will fight in this battle, and we will either die or survive. Even if we die, we will not falter. Death means nothing to us, because we are masters of death itself. We are death incarnate. We have made it our slave, to be led where we please. We will never be defeated. We are eternal!"

No clapping greeted him, but still he smiled, because he knew why. All necromancers at the moment were at that moment staring into the distance, with shocks running throughout the entirety of their bodies. They were so inspired by his words that they had no words in their mouths, or even in their minds. Even Damian could tell what had happened. They were all now hopelessly devoted.

It was the werwolf King who spoke first. His voice cut the silence like a knife, and all faces snapped back to him when his deep voice rumbled out. "With this, our meeting is adjourned. We will announce later when we will assemble. Take this time to return to your dwellings, prepare yourselves, and rest. Captains, and those who you consider appropriate, come to the center of the tent for our council."

There was a general flood as those who had come began to move towards the exit, and a very small amount of them tried to worm their way to the middle. Damian and the other captain were already close, and as such were able to reach there quite swiftly. When they did, Damian was able to look around at those left alive. When he did, he was immediately reminded of how Julius died, but he was also glad that so many were still alive, and that was all he could ask for. One face amazed him, though, and that was the captain of the first squad. Damian had known the squad would die, as the other captain had made him save the others, and had stayed on his own. He had even felt the first squad break, and yet here was its captain.

For a moment, he felt anger as he thought that the captain had abandoned his squad, but then he realized that was not possible, as Damian would have seen it. He was struck speechless when he realized the only other alternative: this captain had fought until his squad had collapsed, until every one had died, and only then battled his way back to vampire lines. In all, seven of them were here. Damian, the first squad's captain, Valdivai, Samael, Bilal, Diana, and Ezekiel. He was glad so many had lived, and could only hope that more werewolf captains had.

His hope was rewarded when all of the others had left the pavilion, and twenty werewolves, beside Bryce and the King, stood with them. Even in their human forms, all of them looked deadly for various reasons. Some were hulking, brutish monsters, some small and slender, and other seemed normal except for the strange weapons they carried with them. Damian learned that the reason so many were left alive was that they had been a part of the attack on the camp, and as such had minimal losses.

Nightwing, the weredragon, had recently entered, most likely at Bryce's request. The Necromancers had no captains, as they had no army, but Skull had selected their ten strongest to join the council along with Sophitia and himself. Bryce had twenty officers with him, ten from the vampire slayers and ten from the paladins. The Paladin Commander was with him as well, and he seemed remarkably at ease, even though he was surrounded by many different species he had sworn to destroy, and who held no love for him and his kind. He was tall, silent, smiling, and looked remarkably young for his station.

When all stood before the raised platform, Safiria began. "You are all here to discuss our battle plans. As of yet, there are none, but before we make any, we need to know just how many warriors we have at our disposal. The vampires have roughly eight hundred fighters with us, counting the militia that is."

"The werewolves number about two thousand five hundred." The King looked proud.

"There are currently one hundred and fifty-six able-bodied necromancers. All will fight." Sophitia nodded in agreement as Skull spoke.

"The vampire slayers number close to nine hundred." They had only recently entered the fight, and as Bryce spoke, all knew that they would be a pivotal force in this battle.

"The paladins number slightly more than that." Despite his young face, the Paladin commander had a very mature voice. It sounded almost playful, however, and Damian smiled at his pluckiness.

"And I'm here," Nightwing felt so inclined to add, even though most assumed it was a rather pointless assertion, as he was most certainly already added to their calculations.

"Very good, we have about, five thousand warriors, which is more than I assumed, and more than I could have hoped for. However, I'm sure any who have fought the werepyres knows that this is not enough, especially in a pitched battle. We must not fight a straight fight with them. We need a very good strategy if we are to have any hope of defeating them. Do any have a suggestion?"

She scanned the crowd, which was silent for a moment before Damian spoke.

"Forgive me, matriarch, for my impertinence, but I believe that I do have a strategy that might work."

She raised one eyebrow, delicately but firmly, daring him to be right. "Proceed captain Damian."

He cleared his throat. "My plan is this: Once the werepyres reach us, we move as if we were to meet them in a pitched battle, but once the two sides charge, a small group of us will infiltrate their army and assassinate their leader, Lueke."

She did not appear convinced, nor did any of the others. "And why would slaying their leader stop them or win this battle for us, Damian?"

He took at deep breath. "Because Lueke is not a real werepyre."

There was a stunned silence, and when the import of his words were fully realized, Safiria's face changed. "Explain yourself."

"Yes, matriarch. Lueke is a human who somehow has morphing abilities. Early on in the history of the werepyres, he killed their true leader and originator Lueke, changed into his form, and took his place as the leader of the werepyres. It seems that he was the one who incited the werepyres to rage and fury at their state, and who cultivated them into the beasts they are today. He is the sole reason they fight. He is like a god to them. They take their motivation from the fact that neither the originator of the vampires, nor that of the werewolves, is still alive, while theirs is." He was working on information morphed together between what he had learned from N'colto, and from what Vincent could remember. He only hoped that he was right. "If we show them that their leader is only a human, they will at the very least lose all of their immediate motivation, and at the best, choose to no longer fight in their disillusionment."

Safiria thought hard for a moment, before the King broke through with a question. "And how is it you know so much about this Lueke, vampire?"

Damian was prepared for that. The truth was best. "N'colto, the leader of the Chiroptera, told me before he died."

"And I can back up what he says." Vincent cut in, although he felt scared just saying that. He had been brought here by Damian, but nevertheless felt out of place, like he was not worthy to be here.

"And who are you, that your knowledge is so worth hearing?" The King was not near convinced.

"I am Vincent, a first class vampire who recently defeated, killed, and ate the heart of Dimitrious, who was the councilor to Vladimir, and a werepyre himself." Vincent could not help but let a small streak of pride run through him at saying those words. "I have acquired all of his countless years of knowledge, and know what Damian says to be true from his memories."

After that revelation, even the King seemed more inclined to listen to Damian. Safiria seemed to be done thinking, and she spoke.

"Fine, I will believe your story, but now tell me this. How many will you include in your 'small group'?"

Damian knew that this was where things would get rather complicated. "I was hoping to take all of the best warriors present here, as well as two of my own men, Vincent and Othniel." A sharp report from behind told him that Othniel was, in fact, here, and the rest of the responses were varying degrees of outrage at taking the best from the fight. He continued quickly. "I was also hoping to warp them right to the fake Lueke, is that possible, Sophitia?"

Sophitia at first nodded, but then shook her head. "No, not with that many, the shock of teleportation would probably kill me, and leave all of you too incapacitated to fight. Warping is not an option."

Damian was chagrined. "Well then, we will have to just—"

"Ah, wait a moment." It was Skull, who still hovered in the air. "What my sister said is only half-true. While it is true that no mortal could teleport as many as it seems you have in mind, I most certainly have the power to do so now. Also, I could magically transfer all of the shock and pain of teleportation all of you feel onto myself. Since I am truly undead, I would feel nothing of it. Warping is most certainly an option."

"Ah," Damian was silent for a moment, "Very well, then I would like to formally submit my strategy to the leaders. My plan would require Myself, Bryce of the vampire slayers, Vincent and Othniel, Sophitia and Skull, and one-third of all captains and officers present, or at least as many as will come or can be spared."

Safiria and the King looked almost surprised. "You do not wish for the King or myself to join?" She almost looked offended, and a small amount of the old fear he had for her crept up Damian's spine.

"My Matriarch. It would most certainly be best for you and the King to stay with the armies, as well as the Paladin Commander. You are our greatest chance of survival, and this mission, if it does not succeed, is most certainly to be the death of all involved. We need the two of you to survive, and also to show the troops in the main army that we are with them. They will most certainly break and fall without your presence. It pains me to say so, but almost all of the rest of us are quite expendable, while the two of you are priceless. With the three of you, the armies will hold, and have the best chance for survival. If they break, run, or die, then even if the small group does find victory, it will be for nothing." He spoke quickly out of habit, and he hoped everything he said made sense.

She cocked her head to the side for a moment and smiled. "Very well then I will accept your plan, promise three of my captain besides you, and stay with my people." He had almost forgotten how beautiful her smile was. "Are there any objections to the strategy, or any others to be presented.?"

Amazingly, there were none, and one by one the other leaders consented to the plan and pledged a certain amount of their captains present. Once the numbers were decided on, it was left to the captains to decide among themselves who would fight. After a brief conference, all of those who would be a part of the assassination attempt gathered in a group. From the vampire captains, Samael, Valdivai, and the first squad captain had volunteered, and none of that surprised Damian. He had heard Samael yelling that he wanted to be in the group from quite a ways away.

From the werewolves, six captains came. All of them looked like the kind who joined simply because they wanted some killing only for themselves or because they did not mind dying tonight. The necromancers sent none, but justified it by saying that Skull and Sophitia were their two strongest, and they would need all of the others to compensate for their loss. Three vampire slayers came with Bryce, their brown trench coats flapping and their wide hats shifting lightly as they walked to join the ranks of their enemies. Four paladins came, as the Paladin commander felt bad for not coming himself, and that was all. Nightwing had wished to come, but was convinced that he would be noticed too quickly, and would most certainly be needed with the main army, as he may be one of the few beings that was stronger than a werepyre. Vincent agreed immediately, and Othniel could not resist Sophitia.

Twenty-one in all. Not a very small number, and yet not a large one either. Maybe just enough. "We can only hope that this will be enough," Safiria looked at the group and was slightly reassured.

"We will be far more than enough, matriarch," Damian replied with a false grin and bravado he did not feel. To finish his charade, he bowed to the rulers, spun to the side, and walked from the pavilion. Most followed after him before dispersing to their individual tents, and eventually even the Matriarch and King left. In the end, for some reason, only Bryce and the Paladin commander were still standing where they had been when the meeting was adjourned.

Bryce did not know why he stayed, or why the Paladin Commander had, but when the other began speaking to him, he listened.

"You know, Bryce, you let that vampire beat you. E had always intended to give the sword to you, once his life was finished." He spoke evenly, and as he did he walked forward, until they stood side-by-side.

The statement surprised Bryce, but his answer was ready, and still weighed on his mind. "But my heart was not pure enough. That blade is holy beyond my knowledge, and it rejected me because of my sins. I was not good enough."

"And you think that vampire is more pure than you? Is his heart more holy?" There was a crooked half-smile on his face, as he tilted his head to regard Bryce.

The thought had never entered into Bryce's mind, but now that it did, it struck him. He started to answer, then stopped, thought, and started again. "Well..." He trailed off. Could that vampire be more pure than he? He had known Damian, and had fought with him. He was an honorable fighter, but he was definitely not holy.

After just a moment to let Bryce collect his thoughts, the Paladin Commander continued. "Bryce, let me tell you something that E never let any person know about his sword. No one is pure enough, good enough, or holy enough to hold it at first."

It was a blunt statement, and it rocked Bryce back immediately. "What?" was all that he could articulate.

The Paladin Commander took a moment to collect his thoughts, letting one hand stray to his chin for a moment, and then began his explanation.

"You see, E discovered, after his first few years of trying to save his sister, that he was not able to destroy all vampires on his own, and that was what had to happen if she were to be saved. It was then that he decided to return to his homeland and create the vampire slayers, and of course when he got there his people were dead. With that, he would have to recruit men and women from all over the forest, and the continent, and train them. After doing this for many years, he came to realize that his quest would take far longer than he had originally expected, longer, potentially, than he had left to live. The fact that he would most likely die or become senile before his goal could be accomplished gave him pause. He did not want to die with his goals unfulfilled. Rumor is, he shut himself into his room. Some say he was communing with God, others that he was working magic, and still others say that he was making a deal with the devil.

Regardless, after seven days of not coming out of his rooms, and not accepting the food and drink left outside of his door, E finally emerged from his room alive. He looked emaciated, and completely exhausted, but beside that he carried a sword. Although none truly know where it came from, or who it came from, and he gave no explanation for his knew weapon, eventually it began to be called the Sword of Office, and is so today. It was an immensely powerful sword; one whose equal I have yet to see on this earth."

Bryce knew everything the Paladin Commander was saying, but he also knew him well enough to know that he never spoke without cause, so he kept quiet as the other continued.

"Well, things carried on normally, with the vampire slayers stationed in towns and taking on the roles of protectors rather than aggressors until E could build them and train them into the army he needed, until the day that the paladins' castle was overrun by an undead army led by an extremely powerful rogue necromancer. As valiantly as my men fought, they had no leadership, as I was, ironically, visiting E and his organization for the first time to see what they were about. I was attempting to set up good relations between the two of us, but had to leave before any real connection could be made to help my people. I left swiftly, but before I could truly leave, E was beside me, and offering the help and assistance of the entire vampire slayer army.

"I refused, of course, but he insisted, and so I accepted. Within the hour, we were leaving, but by the time we were halfway there, I received word that my men were almost defeated. By the time we reached them, only a handful were left, but they had done well. Our combined remaining armies had smashed through the undead, sieged and penetrated the castle, and fought our way to the necromancer himself, who was just then attempting to break into our highest chamber, which the last survivors were defending with their lives. We killed him, and retook our castle." He seemed to pause, as if waiting for a reaction.

Bryce nodded slightly. "I remember this. I was at that battle, and many of both of our men were lost in it. It was a tragedy, but a necessary one, in the end."

The Paladin Commander nodded as well. "And my order will forever be in your debt. But all of this is to relate a very special event that happened during our final battle with the necromancer that none besides myself knows. E died that day."

The words rocked Bryce even harder than ever before, and his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "What?"

The Paladin Commander swiftly continued. "Yes, he died that day. We led the charge through the armies of the undead together, and while I have my great armor, he always wore only his leather armor. There were monstrosities I had only dreamed of, and beasts and skeletons of beasts that made men shake with fear, but we battled all of them and vanquished them on our way to the highest point in my keep. He battled the necromancer with only myself as backup, as all others were either stuck in one of our many rooms or out on the battlefield being swamped by the enemy. All around him that day, and especially myself, were amazed by him, and I will never forget the moment that he beheaded the rogue with his sword, when all of those skeletons vanished from this earth. What he had not shown, until that exact moment, was that numerous wounds had been scored upon his body.

"None beside himself and I could have noticed the countless times he must have been hit, and he hid it all, without showing the least bit of pain as he fought on. And he never faltered, not once until that necromancer was dead, and the army was destroyed. Once the deed was done, however, he fell to the ground, with the necromancer's own powerful staff shoved deep into his body, and countless other cuts spewing forth blood and disease until they quickly pooled around him.

"I ran to him and gave my all to heal him, but his wounds were caused by several magical sources, and too great in number and severity to heal any more than superficially. In the last minutes of life he asked for Aiken, his second in command. I ran as fast as I could, found him, and brought him to E, who was slipping back and forth out of existence at every moment. He retained enough strength and presence of mind to relinquish his control of the vampire slayers to Aiken, and to give him his sword, which was still clutched in his hand, while making him swear to never let go of it.

"As Aiken swore, and the sword left his hands, E died, and I can tell you that no day before or since seemed as dark as it was at his passing. I immediately saw the discomfort in Aiken's eyes when he held the sword, and could tell that it pained him, but he had always been a man of his word, and never let it go. He told me to bury the body of E discreetly, and to tell everyone that E was still alive, but was heavily injured and would be staying with the paladins until he recuperated his strength. I was also to say that Aiken had died. When I asked him about this, he said something about proving himself and walked off into the night, towards Darkovia.

"Anyway, I went along with it. I said that E was with us, and would stay until he was fully healed, and I listed Aiken as one of the dead. I had no idea what kind of plan Aiken had in mind until, about two months later, I received a letter of thanks from the vampire slayers for rehabilitating E, and stating that he had safely arrived at their castle in Darkovia. I was baffled by the news, as I had buried E myself, and thought that it might be some kind of a code. So I went down there myself of horseback, and was completely astonished and disturbed to see E standing in the front to greet me. His smile was exactly like him, and it scared the hell out of me. I cast spells of seeing, of disillusionment, and even of blazing sun, but still he remained himself.

"When we were alone, he explained everything. He said that he was most certainly E, but also Aiken. Years before, when he had created the sword, or had it created, he had placed his soul inside it so that, even if he died, he would be able to see his sister redeemed. He also explained that, in order to ensure the transfer of his soul from the sword into the human receiver, blood was needed, and the blood of the guilty at that. No innocent blood must be shed by that sword. The more evil blood is shed, the faster the transaction takes place, and once it is completed, whoever holds the sword will become E himself. In this way, E planned to see his sister saved, even after death." He lapsed into silence, not so much awkward as it was tired after having spoken for so long.

Bryce was at a loss for words. He had known of the battle, had been in the midst of all of those skeletons, and had always regretted not being able to make it to E and the Paladin Commander. He had never expected anything that had transpired. He ran through the thoughts in his head very quickly, and then the realization hit him.

"Wait, so you mean that I could have become him?"

"Exactly, you were worthy of becoming E, and that's why I say you let him beat you." The Paladin Commander looked happy to have explained everything so clearly.

"And now Damian will become him, given time?" Bryce was running through still more possibilities in his head.

"Yes." The Paladin Commander now looked rather sad, as he saw Bryce recognize what all of this meant.

Bryce's eyes fell for a moment, but then he smiled once again. "Good, I wouldn't want to be taken over by that old man anyway."

For once, it was the Paladin Commander who was surprised. "You do not envy him?"

Bryce laughed. "Of course not, we elves learned long ago that what we are is what we are. To try to be something else is an affront to whoever it was that created us. Wouldn't you agree, Artix?"

The Paladin Commander's smile resumed it's place. "Yes, I suppose I do. Although now I feel like I just monologued for absolutely no reason."

Bryce patted him on the back as the two of them began to leave.

"Eh, it was an interesting story, and at least now I can look forward to having E back."

"As do I," the Paladin Commander agreed. "The world needs him more than he could ever know."

Later that day, only an hour or so before the sun would completely set, and the werepyres would come, Damian was once again inside his tent when he heard footsteps approaching. They came up to the flap in the front, paused, and then he heard a scraping on the side of it; the sign of requested entrance, like knocking on a door.

"Enter." He stood from his cot, where he had been sitting, and walked towards the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Serenade push apart the flap and walk in. She was dressed in the paladin's armor, and her hair was pulled pack in a ponytail, which for some reason only accentuated the scar that disfigured her face. Normally, such a flaw would be crippling to ones beauty, and would subsequently be hidden at all cost, but Serenade made no effort to hide it, and for some unexplained reason, she seemed more beautiful because of it.

"Good afternoon." He smiled, though he did not feel the emotion behind it. "I was never able to tell you that I am glad you are still alive."

She brought a hand up and flung her braid behind her with a flick of her head. When she centered her face back on him, it was clear that she was not hiding her emotions. "Yes, no thanks to you."

Had he not been expecting worse, the words would have stabbed him, as it was, he kept up his smile. "Ah, but you seem to forget who it was that saved you in the first place."

Almost as if she had been playing this conversation over in her head, she responded immediately, and with some real anger in her voice. "Yes, only to leave me feeling worthless about myself, change my life, and then leave me with the werewolves thinking that I had willingly helped you escape. If Bryce hadn't been there to beat the crap out of you and save the Queen, they would have had me torn into bits and then fed to the King."

"Well, he was, and did, and you are alive. So why is it that you stand before me? Are you facing the demons of your past, or do you have a more practical reason?" Damian was in no mood to argue, mostly because he had nothing with which to do so.

She took the change in conversation grudgingly, but quite quickly as well. "I heard that you have organized a counter-attack involving the assassination of the werepyres' leader."

"This is true." Damian had a small idea of why she was asking about this, but kept silent.

"And also that you're taking along almost all of our best fighters from every army with you." She was getting closer to her real reason, and Damian was starting to understand.

"This is also true." No sense in rushing anything.

"But at the same time you're bringing only about twenty people with you." She was dragging things out, for some reason.

"Yes, so what is your point?" Damian was never one for unnecessary words.

But she still would not get to the point. "Why are you doing this? Why sacrifice all of our best warriors by sending them into the middle of the enemy's army? We need as many fighters as we can with their armies, on the front lines."

There was a little glimmer in what she had said that resonated, and his feeling of what she was really here for grew stronger. "I recognize that, which is why I am only taking twenty-one of us." It was a true statement, but one that leaned towards making her get to the point.

"But twenty-one of our best." It was close.

"The leaders are still staying with their armies. The vampires have Safiria, the werewolves have their King, and the paladins have their Commander." He definitely knew what she wanted, and shaped this answer into her next statement perfectly.

"But what about the vampire slayers?" There it was.

He sighed. "Listen, I can see where you are going with this, but I cannot spare Bryce. He is without a doubt one of the best fighters within the five armies at our disposal, and may very well be the best. Without him, this would absolutely be a suicide mission."

Now that it was out, she took no effort in hiding her concern for Bryce. "But what are the odds that he, or any of you in fact, will survive this?"

Truth would be best. "If I am right in my assumption, then maybe ten percent, at best, and none at all if I am wrong. Even if we all die, though, if the others survive, it will have been worth it." When put out like that, it sounded bleak even to him, but this was the course that they were on, and there was no turning back at this point.

"But Bryce—"

"Bryce agreed to be a part in what I have planned. I explained to all present the probability that those sent will die, and none expressed any misgivings about joining. I gave him and every other person chosen the chance to fight alongside the main army instead, but none took it. All of them agree that this is our best chance to win."

She still looked like she wanted to argue with all of her being, and for maybe the first time, Damian realized just how much she loved the elven werewolf. For a moment it made him angry, but then he simply smiled inside. He found that he was truly happy for him. She was still thinking of an argument, but then she seemed to give up and try a new approach. "Well, then let me join your party, I am a skilled healer, and have also more than proven myself in combat."

Under normal circumstances, Damian might actually have let her. "No."

Serenade was taken aback. "Why? I would be valuable to you and your group?"

He shook his head. "I am sure that you would, but Bryce anticipated this conversation, and strictly forbade me from allowing you into the attack. He said that he knew we had almost no chance of surviving this attack, and said that he could not bear to lose you. He said that he could not forgive himself if he put you in harm's way."

She was silent for a moment. She just looked at him with a gaze of wonderment, and then a tear began to fall down her cheek. She quickly turned away and ran her sleeve along her face, sniffing. She looked like she was going to turn back, and even tried to say "Thank you," but her voice cracked, and she finished her turn, stood, and began swiftly walking back.

Just before she left his tent, however, she stopped, hesitated for a moment. She wanted to say it more than anything, and yet she fought against it as well. She remembered her pain, her abuse, but also her saving, and when Bryce had told her Damian had let him live. Her two sides struggled forever in that moment, but finally she turned back around. She let Damian see her tears falling, one line curving and running down her scar like a trough, and she finally said it.

"Damian..." She tried very hard to keep her voice steady, and tried to say it, but she could not. "You're not scum." Was all she could manage, before she turned and exited his tent.

He sat, looked at the place she exited, and smiled once again. This time, though, his smile was neither fake, nor happy, but sad. "Yes I am, Serenade." He said under his breath. Then louder to himself, when he was sure that she was not within range of hearing him. "At least she will not try to come with us now. And I am sure that Bryce would have said that had it come into the conversation. I guess he really does not know, or does he?"

"What would I have said?" Bryce, along with Vincent and Othniel, walked through the entrance of his tent.

Damian chuckled slightly. "That far too many have been inside my tent today. Mind the dead bodies, and the puddles of blood. My tent is already showing the effects of you three earlier today. What are you after this time?"

"Well, I suppose that is what happens when one takes it upon oneself to become the champion of an entire army. More importantly, though, we all came here individually to ask you one thing. Is there any chance that we will win?"

This same question had been asked many times, but from these three, arguably, and strangely, his closest comrades, the question seemed far different. Not only was he able to now voice his own doubts, but he had to. They knew him, and wanted to know the truth. He sighed and stood, looking them in the eyes.

"I honestly do not know. There are so many problems that could come up." He began pacing back and forth. "This is all counting on the enemy doing exactly what we want, and there's honestly no reason for them to do so. What if Lueke leads his army, or stays at the center of it? A thousand things could go wrong. Even if he does leave himself vulnerable at any point, I cannot even know if the twenty-one of us will be enough to kill him, even on his own." He speech quickened, as did his steps. "What power could one who conquered a werepyre on his own posses? Is he all-powerful, or can he be killed as well? Is there honestly anything we can do? I wonder if there is a better plan, if all of this is unnecessary, and something far more simple would work just as well." Just when they thought he was only talking to himself, he stopped pacing and faced them.

"I know absolutely nothing. But I can say that I will go through with the plan I have devised until it is completed, or until every one of us is dead. I know nothing more than to do what I can, and I feel that this is best. I am sorry that I have nothing more concrete to give you, but this is all I have." He finished, and gave them an apologetic look.

Vincent nodded. Othniel stared straight ahead. Bryce spoke.

"So, if this guy does turn out to be almost all-powerful, what will we do?"

Damian did not miss the inclusion of "we", and it comforted him to know that they were with him, even until they were dead. "Well, I figure that, if that is the case, I will try to have all of the others stave off any werepyres in the area while you, Vincent, Othniel, and I kill him."

Bryce smiled slightly. Vincent simply nodded once again. Othniel started, shot his gaze to Damian, and then blurted out: "What, why us four?"

"Well, Vincent because he killed Demetrious, and so has great knowledge of our opponents, and also is more than likely the best vampire warrior we have. Bryce because he is one of the few werewolves that can be relied upon in the heat of battle, and also because he is a vampire slayer. He might also be the best fighter out of all of us. I will be there because I hold the Sword of Office, and so have the greatest chance of killing our enemies. You will be our offset, as all of us are more or less short-ranged fighters, and you are an excellent long-range fighter."

"But there are better long-range fighters in our army. There must be countless amounts of them."

Damian shook his head. "If there are, they are few, and I could never trust any of them the way I trust you. I know you, and I know how you will react. That is far more important than anything else. Also, I cannot exactly explain it, but you just feel like the best choice."

Othniel looked marginally reassured, but Bryce pressed on with a point that had already been covered.

"So, let's say that we actually do catch this guy and kill him, you honestly think that the werepyres will just give up?" The tone in his voice suggested more than just doubt.

Damian had only his old answer. "I cannot know. I can only guess that they would. Like I said, they have been lied to all of these years, and if all of that is finally exposed, I hope that they will have no will left to fight."

"Or they will, and will rip us to bits." Bryce could not help but interject.

"Right, or he kills us and all of us die anyway." Damian agreed and smiled.

Bryce returned the smile. "Okay then, I suppose that is good enough for me."

"Right, same here." Vincent spoke for the first time in the meeting. His words ended very quickly, but there was something in his tone that felt wrong in Damian's head. He had felt it before, a coldness he could not place, and it disconcerted him. Before he could question Vincent, though, Bryce said that he would be leaving, and as such all three of them began heading towards the exit of the tent. Just as they were about to exit, however, Othniel turned back.

"Uh, you guys go on ahead, I'll be right there."

As they left, Othniel turned to Damian, who, upon seeing the dread in his friend's eyes, addressed him first.

"What is wrong?"

Othniel would not meet his eyes. "Damian, I'll go with your group, but you have to find someone else to go with the four of you when you, Bryce, and Vincent fight Lueke."

Damian was puzzled, but hardly surprised. "Why will you not fight with us."

"Because," Othniel took a deep breath. "Because Lucifer was, is right about me. I'm nothing special, I might even be sub-par in this army. There just has to be many more who could do this better than I could. Who wouldn't fail. I—I—What if I fail us at a critical moment, and all of you die? I can't let you all place your lives in my hands. I couldn't take the knowledge of knowing that I was the sole reason we all died." He looked miserable, and sounded worse.

"What Lucifer said really affected you, didn't it?" Damian looked worried.

Othniel hung his head. "Yea."

Damian put his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked him in the eye when he looked up. "Listen, I would not have chosen you had I not thought you were at least one of the best twenty warriors in all of our armies combined. Whether or not you fail is clearly up to you, but I will not substitute you for another, because then we will all have an even greater chance of death. We all have to live with the chance of failing and causing the death of all those around us, only some of us more than others.

"I am not going to be your mother about this, and if you honestly believe that you cannot be a part of our team, then you can, of course, decline and fight with the main army, or leave and live life among the humans. However, if you do so, know that you will live with the knowledge that your absence may have been the reason we were defeated and died. You will live the rest of your life wondering if you could have saved us all. Who will you trust, me or Lucifer?"

Othniel felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. Either way, he would be responsible for their deaths. Only one way, however, at least gave him the chance of saving his friends, and all others as well. He felt Damian's words flowing over Lucifer's harsh criticisms, and for the first time in too long, he felt courage, and confidence well up inside him. "Yea...Yes, I will fight with you Damian. Forgive me for ever doubting you."

Damian smiled wearily. "Good, I am glad. I will be more at ease knowing that you have my back. Now, go get some rest. Night will be upon us soon, and I need you at your best for what could be our last fight together."

"Okay boss." Othniel turned to leave, but spun around swiftly and caught the item that had been thrown at him by Damian. It was a sheathed sword, and he knew it well.

"Wulfsbane." He breathed.

"It has served me well more times than I can count, but it is waste to own two swords. I cannot use them both. I want you to have it. It should fit well with your dirk should you need to fight in close."

Othniel looked up at his longtime friend. "Thanks Damian, for everything."

"You are welcome, now get the hell out of my tent!"


	27. The Beginning Of

27

The Beginning Of

Black flooded the sky, dotted by the countless white lights of stars and by the moon as well. She paraded herself as the largest figure in the night, and flared with majesty as she lit up the sky around her. Strangely, and almost prophetically, she was full tonight, and her full orb watched angrily from above as the werepyres slowly emerged from the shadows into the light of the corpse-filled valley that had been a battlefield only one night before. The smell was nauseating, or exhilarating, depending on whose opinion was being taken, and as the large, hulking figures emerged, all sorts of carrion from wolves, crows, and bats to deer and squirrels ended their feasts and fled in to the night. Some tore off one last piece of the immortal they feasted from, while others took a long, slow mouthful from the stagnant pond of blood that had been pooling at the lowest part of the valley all day.

As the scavengers ran, the predators gathered. The first thing they did was the grab the nearest body and rib it to shreds, feasting on the meat and blood until their lust was satiated, and then they slowly began to gather off to one side of the valley, where Lueke was waiting for a report from a werepyre he had sent out to scout while it had still been day. The werepyre had carefully snuck around in the shadows while in human form, found the camps, and finally made his way back now that night was upon them once again. When he returned, he first ate ravenously, then pointed the army in the direction the other races now lay.

Many of the werepyres roared and began to take off with their wings, but they immediately came back to the earth and quieted when Lueke raised his hand. They waited for him to speak with rapt attention, and when he did, it was with a calm, but undeniably strong tone.

"We will not go charging after them like dogs. We will head towards the camp like the superior beings that we are. Once we are within a mile of the camp, you will stop and send out scouts. Only once those scouts have returned and given their findings will we attack. This is the greatest chance we may ever have, and we will not squander it by rushing in, massacring, and giving them the chance to get away in the confusion. We will kill every one of them!"

There some obvious feelings of discontent, but overall the werepyres believed in their leader, and were satiated by the promise of a complete victory. They set out into the air once again, but silently this time, and one by one they disappeared into the night sky. When the last of the was gone, Lueke looked around the corpse-filled battlefield, smiled, and leapt into the air after them.

When Lueke set down once again, it was with extreme caution, and almost no noise. All of his warriors were around him, and each of them were as silent as he. They stood, motionlessly, waiting. Finally, there was movement all around, and a general shifting as werepyres moved to the side to let the scouts reach Lueke. There were three of them, but only one spoke when Lueke motioned him permission. He bowed, sweeping his wings across the ground in supplication, and began.

"Lueke, they have not separated groups,"

Lueke smiled, just as he had thought.

"And are not retreating."

Lueke's smile left him. "What?"

The sentry looked to the side, shuffling his feet. "They have taken up and fortified a position at the top of a nearby hill as one army, and seem to be waiting for our attack."

Lueke cocked his head. That made no sense, but regardless, this was even better than before, as now they could be surrounded and cut off from escaping. Still, he felt unsure, but let none of his uneasiness show.

"If a last stand is what they desire, we will accommodate. My werepyres, secrecy is no longer important. Go to that hill now, before they change their minds, but do not attack it yet. Circle around it and wait for my order. Go Now!"

His voice rose in command, and with it came out the long-contained aggression of the werepyres under his command. They roared with enthusiasm, eagerness, and relief at no longer having to be silent, and burst off into the night with howls and screeches.

Once again, Lueke was left alone, as he always took flight last. When the last one was out of sight, a dark shape slipped from the forest and stood beside him, looking toward the large hill their last true enemies inhabited. Lueke spared a glance at his most trusted ally before speaking. "What do you think, Death, why do they choose to stand and fight. The hill is a good move, as it almost nullifies our fliers, but they have no chance of survival."

Death looked up at his leader. He was far larger than Death, and every inch of his dark brown skin and fur radiated strength, power, and command. He was in all ways different from Death himself, who was small, even by just a werewolf's standards. In fact, he was only slightly larger than a human. Any ridicule his size could bring to him, however, was offset by his completely pitch black fur and black eyes with red in the middle. When he spoke, it was with something less than a voice, but more than a whisper.

"The answer is clear. They believe they can defeat us. Either by military might or by some tactic they think they have. You have spoken of the wisdom of their leaders, so we cannot assume they are idiotic enough to think they can defeat us in a pitched battle. The first option is not worth considering. They must have some plan, but what could they think would stop us save our complete annihilation?"

Lueke gave as little input as possible, preferring to let Death's mind work. "What plan do you believe they will use?"

"Most likely a covert attack while the main forces are battling." Death spoke without hesitation.

Lueke nodded. "This is most probable to you?"

"Yes, all other plans would be racially suicidal or pointless."

Thinking for just a moment, Lueke continued. "So what would the purpose of such an attack be?"

Once again, an immediate response. "Traditionally, the important functions of such an attack involve destroying key figures or structures. However, the only key figure we have amongst us is you, and the possibility that they are targeting you raises up several impossibilities."

"Such as?" Lueke was caught up in the workings of Death's mind.

Death ticked them off on his fingers. "First, you are almost completely identical to any other werepyre in our army, so thinking that they can find you in our army is a fallacy. Second, destroying you is impossible. Third, even if it were possible, your death would not cause the defeat of our army. We would only fight on harder, if any change were to be registered."

"Which means?" Lueke had never been more glad for having Death with him. He was the most intelligent being he had ever seen, and any situation was laid bare before him.

"Well," Death continued. "if they do indeed intend to assassinate you they would not only need a special way of locating you, but would also need to feel as if destroying you would somehow cause the rest of us to be defeated..." His voice trailed off, and for just one moment his red eyes shot up and glanced at Lueke.

Lueke had been so caught up in Death's mind that he had not noticed the conclusion Death was coming to until just now, and he involuntarily cleared his throat. "There is no such reason, but assume that they must think they have one, what do you believe are the chances they will try this strategy?"

Death quickly realigned himself back into the perfect tactician he had been before, but there was something different about him that was only barely perceptible. Lueke noticed, though, and knew that, after this battle was over, he would have to have Death killed. "Seventy-six percent, at least."

"That high?" Lueke had never known Death's percentages to be off. It was just then that he noticed how dangerous one like Death was. With his highly active mind, he was constantly analyzing everything around him, including his leader. Lueke realized now that it was inevitable for him to discover everything around him, and was glad that he had realized it now.

"It is their only chance." Death did not realize how he had given himself away with his truthfulness.

"Very well, I want you and thirty of my personal guard with me at all times during the battle." It would be best to keep Death close, where he could do nothing but be loyal.

"Yes Lueke." Death did not realize that he had signed away his life with those two words.

"Are you quite sure about this, Damian?" The worry in Bryce's voice spoke louder than his words.

"Absolutely not, now see if you can find him." Damian's smile, on the other hand, countered his bleak statement.

Bryce sighed and let go of his regenerated eyes. He suppressed the momentary, involuntary shiver of fear at going back to the darkness once again, and moved on past it until he was seeing once again. The world came back to familiar reds, oranges, and a few other colors. Once he was acclimated, he swept his gaze over the army that was arrayed before them. The werepyres had arrived minutes before, and had wasted no time surrounding the large hill they were fortified at the top of. They had not attacked, or made any aggressive move save for a few roars.

Bryce at first wondered what they were waiting for, but then his eyelids widened in involuntary mimicry as he realized what stood in their midst. Whenever he used his eyes on a sentient being, the darker their life's energy that flowed through them looked, the more evil they were, or had committed. The being that stood before him, directly in front of the hill, had a force so dark it would have been impossible to see had there not been others directly behind it that contrasted it. While the energy flowing through him was not pure black, it was the closest he had ever seen, and it seemed to almost suck in the color around it every moment.

He quickly regenerated his eyes.

"So, did you find him." Damian had noticed Bryce's surprise, and looked worried.

"I believe so, if not, then there's one seriously screwed up individual inside his army besides him." As he spoke, Bryce found the same spot and pointed toward it. There was a slightly larger clump of werepyres there, but Bryce quickly found the one. "There." That dark-brown one in between all of the others. Do you see him?"

Damian put his fist to his chin, squinting. "Yes, I see the one. Do you get the general idea of where we want, Skull?"

"Absolutely. He's the one surrounded by a bunch of other really strong werepyres." For being an undead Lich, Skull still had remarkable control over the nuances of his voice. He was still able to make his voice drip with sarcasm without the use of vocal chords.

"So can you get all of us there?" Damian looked around at the twenty-one of them.

"Phh, you mock me vampire." Skull laughed, unearthly. "I could send half of our army that distance. Just say 'when' and we'll be there before you finish. In fact, now that I have a lock on who exactly he is, I can instantly send all of us to him at any time."

"Good," Damian nodded. "Now it is up to them. Once they begin their charge, we will wait until the two sides have met, and then we will warp as close to him as we can. Be ready to go at any time, everyone."

Almost as if in tandem with his desire, there was an earth-shaking roar from all around, and a call rang from the other side of the mountain that the werepyres were charging.

"Well, I guess I never really expected them to wait long." Damian smiled.

"True, but I think there may be one flaw to your plan, Damian." Bryce's eyes were gone once again, and he was looking towards where the call had sounded from.

"What is it?" Damian was worried by Bryce's tone.

"They seem to be attacking from opposite Lueke first, and are working their way closer around the circle."

"So," Damian thought out loud, "The part of the army around Lueke will be the last to attack?"

"Exactly." Bryce brought his eyes back and looked at his friend with sorrow. "We'll either have to attack prematurely and risk being overwhelmed before we ever make it to Lueke, or we wait until the charge carries all of the way around the mountain and watch as our people die."

With only a moment's hesitation, Damian's face steeled. "Then we will wait to see how fast the charge comes around."

"And let them die?" Sophitia looked him in the eyes.

He turned away. "And let them die."

Bryce spoke once again. "Regardless, this is very strange. Why would they form start their attack as if to completely counter our battle plan. With this, Lueke will be the last part of the army to attack, and last to be vulnerable. And he's also being guarded by powerful werepyres when that's happening. Doesn't this seem strange to you, Damian?"

Damian looked towards Lueke. "Yes, either Lueke is very cautious, has a traitor amongst us, or somehow guessed our plan. None of those are very comforting possibilities..." He trailed off.

"So do you still plan on going through with your plan?" Skull might have been the only one amongst the group who did not appear phased by the changes in the battle.

"Yes. I believe that it is still our only chance at victory. Although now we should all expect a much harder fight since they probably know that we are coming and will have more than just his guard. We must still wait, however, because if we go now, we will have absolutely no chance of victory, and we will all die."

As they stood and watched the circle around the hill close in with a wave, they heard the first screams from the other side of the hill. They were screams of pain, torture, and death. There were few who could stand against a werepyre, and most of them were in the group of twenty one. Faces turned to Damian as the screams continued to rise in pitch and volume. But he stood, facing away from them, resolute. His face was like stone.

And inside he told himself that he would make up for their deaths by giving his own life once it was time.

'Move faster, damn you!' He silently cursed the circle, which was losing its shape already.

Daniel, fifth class vampire, watched as the werepyres approached his position and looked unsteadily at his friend, Eric, for support. Unfortunately, Eric seemed as scared as Daniel was. However, once Eric saw Daniel watching him he looked back and smiled, which Daniel returned.

"You know, I never did get a good answer out of you as to what you did before becoming a vampire." It felt silly to ask about it now, but Daniel needed at least one moment to forget what was coming.

Eric chuckled slightly and looked up, far away. "I was a male stripper."

Daniel laughed. "No way, really?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I still have my pride, after all."

This brought one final chuckle out of Daniel, and for just a moment he felt at peace with what was about to happen to him. He was about five men in from the front of the line, and so was only moments away from the battle. And even with that momentary respite, he was damn scared. Sure, he was a relatively new recruit with the vampires, and had not ever seen a werepyre in action, but he had heard the other, more experienced vampires tell stories of them, and if they were half as ferocious as they said, he knew he had reason to be scared.

Just thinking about the stories made him shiver in fear, but he quickly tried to quell them by reminding himself that they outnumbered their enemy a few times over, and that the werepyres could not take flight because of the extensive amount of archers, mages, and necromancers at the top of the large hill that would shoot them down from their elevated position, but these did little to help his mood as he knew that even a grounded werepyre was deadly, and that numbers meant nothing to them.

For a moment, all of his emotions coalesced into one great feeling of fear, and the sheer amount of death being exuded by the army charging towards him made him want to turn and run for his life. Even as the feeling coursed through his body, however, a hand fell on his shoulder. The sudden stop made him jump slightly, and when he turned around, his face stiffened in surprise and fear. Safiria stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder. She smiled.

"Please let me through, warrior."

With speed akin to a first class, Daniel nearly leaped to the side, helped along by her gentle push. He mumbled an apology and cast his eyes down, but as she walked past him, and he shot his eyes up for a moment, he saw her give him the slightest of smiles. He smiled back unconsciously, and felt that, with that, even he could fight this battle to its end. The others between her and the front of the line parted ways and spared her the trouble of moving through them. She walked serenely, slowly, with a sense of calm in every step, even though the werepyres came closer at every moment. Once she stood one step in front of the army behind her, she stopped.

Almost instantly, the line took two steps forward, until she was safely inside their lines. Elsewhere, on the other side of the mountain, it was obvious that the same scenario was being played out by the werewolf King and the Paladin Commander with those around them. Without looking back, Safiria took too more steps forward, placing her once again out of the protection of her army, overextended. Almost before she had stopped, the line shuffled forward until she was one step behind them once again. Finally, she did look back, and all behind saw her lips raise up her cheeks in a smile that looked more smug than happy.

She broke out in a sprint down the hill toward the werepyres, who were at that moment running ever closer. She swiftly passed the line that had moved to protect her, and after a moment of disbelief, there was a flood of curses as they collectively realized what she had just done. There was only one more moment of hesitation—looking at the beasts coming for them—before they all broke their line and began running after the matriarch. All of them knew that she was manipulating them into attacking instead of defending, and all understood that it was a dirty trick, but it was still working on them. All across the large hill, the lines poured toward one another, quickly closing the distance. As they ran, many morphed into their first class or Other forms, and some of the Paladins even grew in size until they were comparable with those first classes around them.

The two lines converged upon one another in seconds, and once they met, Daniel found himself gaining some bit of hope, when Safiria leapt into the air, drew her sword from its sheath, flowed around the strike of the first werepyre to reach her, and sliced off the top of its head. As the upper half of its brain fell to the ground, and the bottom one sloshed back and forth inside its face, she landed behind it and continued her charge forward. Another was dead before the first one's legs realized it was no longer living and collapsed under it.

'Well, maybe we actually have a chance of surviving this thing.' Daniel thought, optimistically.

Unfortunately, any bright thoughts he may have fleetingly conjured at seeing his Matriarch's easy handling of a werepyre were blown away—along with most of the front line of warriors—once the two sides met. As soon as they engaged, it became obvious how hopeless their cause was. The battle could hardly even be called such, and Daniel, who had been in the fifth row, found himself at the front of the army in only a few seconds. Pieces of his comrades flew through the air as they were ripped from their bodies, blood flowed to the ground and spouted into the sky from open wounds, and little bits of flesh showered the survivors.

As the werepyre directly in front of Daniel pulled back its arm, he found himself losing track of reality. For just a moment, he realized that nothing in front of him was real, and that he was actually sleeping. Somewhere inside him, it seemed that his mind was happier with the idea of him dying without knowing that he was. The werepyre's attack was too fast for him to react to, let along dodge, and even if he had been able to, at that moment he would not have tried. For some reason all that he could think of, as the mass of fur and muscle sped toward him, was the Matriarch, and how beautiful she looked. She had kept on running while the rest of the line faltered, and now he could just barely see her amidst the werepyres.

'I wasn't with her in the end.' He lamented while waiting for the dream to end.

But it never did, and the blow never came. As soon as it had come, the feeling left him, and when he snapped back into conscious awareness, he saw that a first class werewolf and an Other form vampire had rammed into it, moved it back, and were even now wrestling with it. In the wake of the initial slaughter of all average, and even many above-average, warriors, the first classes were flying or charging through the ranks and were only now engaging the werepyres. They had waited in the middle of the army until the werepyres lost just that first bit of momentum, and now launched the counter attack.

They may have waited even longer, but seeing their leaders, Safiria, the King, and the Paladin Commader, so far out and exposed had triggered them into attacking now. As it was, they were forming into wedges and aiming themselves directly at the leader closest to them. They were intent on rescuing them and keeping them from fighting on their own.

While the werepyre struggled with the werewolf and vampire, Daniel searched for a way to be useful. It was true that a part of him wanted to run and hide, but he was moved far past such emotions by the almost overwhelming desire to be with his Matriarch. Before he could discover either a way to help the first classes kill the werepyre or a way to get closer to the Matriarch, however, the werepyre grabbed both of its opponents and launched them away from it. It only used one hand each, but they still flew back, passed a few feet by Daniel, and finally managed to stop themselves and prepare for the werepyre's counter-attack. It did not disappoint, and just when Daniel threw himself out of the way, it jumped at them. Its wings flapped in mid-air, accelerating its speed until even the two first classes were not ready for it when it hit them. It slammed into them and knocked them back while wrapping one arm around each of them. When its flight ended, it stood high with one of them in each arm and began to squeeze.

Both of the huge fighters struggled, bit, slashed, and attacked, but with only one arm each the werepyre was able to restrain and begin to break both of them. Snaps were heard as bones began to break, but both of them kept attacking even while their bodies began to shrink at the waist. By now, Daniel had recovered from his leap, and as he picked up his sword he saw Eric running towards him and pointing behind him. When Daniel turned around, he saw the werepyre crushing the two first classes, and when he looked back to Eric, who was still running at the werepyre, he got the idea. He turned and ran to one side of the werepyre's back, reaching it at about the same time as Eric, who was at the opposite side.

The two of them exchanged nods, flipped their swords over, and plunged them into the back of the werepyre's knees. They did not slash, as they had been told that slashes were almost instantly healed, but rather stabbed and left the swords inside the wounds so that the healing factor would have a harder time dealing with the wounds. The blades came out of the other side of the werepyre's knees and separated the tendons connecting the bottom half of the leg with the knee cap. The werepyre fell to the ground involuntarily, and the two first-classes took advantage of its momentary weakness to dig into it. The vampire quickly slipped out of its hold, swung around, and started slashing her claws into the back right shoulder of the werepyre, while the werewolf devoted all of his considerable strength to twisting the werepyre's arm off before launching a barrage of blows to its front. The werepyre was caught off guard and was only able to flail around helplessly before it was finally overcome. Once it finally fell to the ground, the vampire and werewolf began feasting upon its flesh before finally ripping out its heart and splitting it.

Daniel and Eric retrieved their swords and ran with the two first classes, and all others that were still alive, towards the Matriarch, who was no longer fighting alone surrounded by the horde of werepyres. Slowly, a circle of warriors had formed about her; vampires, paladins, werewolves, vampire slayers, and even some grotesquely varied skeletons fought fought side-by-side with her in an effort to repel the beasts all around them. They were able to join them, but when Daniel turned about to become part of the circle, he discovered that there were no warriors left alive on the battlefield save those that were part of their circle, the King's, the Paladin Commander's, or the one at the top of the hill where the archers, mages, and necromancers were. Only a few others were still trying to join, and hundreds of others lay dead on the battlefield.

"Damn." He cursed before giving the entirety of his attention to surviving.

From atop the hill, with a perfect view of the carnage, Damian clenched his fists. He felt the nails dig into his flesh until blood flowed down his knuckles and began dripping onto the ground. Without looking away from what could hardly be called a battlefield in front of him, he slowly lifted his hands to his mouth and licked the blood from them one after the other. In only ten or twenty minutes, the werepyres had slain thousands of warriors, and had lost somewhere around one hundred of their own. Damian had come up with his plan so that they would be able to risk their lives in order to save those in the army from being forced to, but now he was forced to sit back and sacrifice them so that he and those with him could have their chance at killing Lueke.

There were only three groups left alive, those around Safiria, the King, and the Paladin Commander. These three circles were doing well, because all of the weak or luck-deprived had already been killed, leaving only the strongest and those with the greatest will to live alive. Still, they were still losing more than they were killing, and it was clear that eventually they would each break and fall. The top of the hill was far more secure, with the werepyres learning early on that they could not charge it without a large force behind them. They no longer tried to assault it, preferring instead to attack those within them, and attack it once all others were dead.

And the circle was still running in! It was as if Lueke were taunting them on purpose. It was about seventy-five percent of the way finished, with only those werepyres very close to Lueke and his specific guard still being around him. Still, there were too many for them to attack, and so all that was left to do was watch and wait.

Even from where he stood, Damian could see the largest of the fighters in the melee. He was amazed at first at the remarkable diversity of the three circles. He had expected all of them to segregate, with werewolves heading towards the King, Vampire to the Matriarch, and humans to the Commander, but they were mostly even. It seemed that when one is fearful for one's life, one will sprint for the closest rest possible. Hulking werewolves fought next to sleek demon-looking vampires, and gigantic, disfigured skeletons fought side-by-side with large human paladins. Even though these fearsome sights captured the attention at first, small flits of strangely colored spells and pure light showed the powers of those vampire slayers still alive and also those vampires, werewolves, and paladins still in their normal forms. All those still alive were the best or the luckiest, and were proving it at every moment.

If every one of these warriors cut a dramatic figure in the battle, however, then the werepyres themselves were terrifying. It soon became apparent to all that there were basically two types of werepyres on the battlefield: The strong ones and the fast ones. The strong ones could be easily discerned by their hulking bodies, and it was obvious that, though they were slower than Other form vampires, they were still faster than first class werewolves and stronger than both. They were brutes, and blood followed them wherever they went. The fast ones were more slender than their companions, and sometimes actually looked small, but their speed was great. They were faster and stronger than Other form vampires, the fastest in the allied armies, and were stronger than them as well. Thankfully, though, they seemed to be weaker than the first class werewolves.

Both kinds tore through all but the strongest warriors, and even many of the strongest were beaten into submission within a thirty-second time period. Fighting one alone was suicide save for very few, and even groups found themselves overpowered while facing just one werepyre.

The only reason those left alive were still so was because of two blaring weaknesses within the werepyre armies. First, most were very inexperienced when it came to actual combat. It seemed obvious that most of them had never truly battled for their lives before, since the werepyres had to live in secret before this moment, and that those who had fought before had only recently become werepyres and were still becoming used to the way their bodies now operated. These weaknesses were minor, but they did make for many mistakes that seasoned warriors like those still alive were able to capitalize on. Many werepyres were killed because of a trick most fighters would have been able to see through.

Second, and even though it fought against reason, the werepyres were still outnumbered by the opponents that they now had surrounded. From moment to moment, this kept them from truly breaking through the last vestiges of defense and massacring what was left of their enemies. It also allowed Other form vampires and first class werewolves to use others with them as cover until they found the ideal opponent. It was found that, with their greater speed, Other form vampires had a better chance at killing the larger werepyres; and first class werewolves, with their superior strength, could sometimes manage to kill the smaller werepyres. Although, if the order was ever swapped, the werepyre would emerge victorious every time, and Damian's allies would lose a valuable warrior if those around them were not able to rescue them before they were killed.

Despite these few inferior qualities, the werepyres were still overwhelmingly winning the war, and there was obviously no chance of them losing it through a straight fight. Somewhere inside him, Damian sighed. He had not realized it until now, but he had always hoped that their armies would somehow be able to defeat the werepyres without his suicidal plan being put into effect, but now he saw that it was their only chance for survival. What was worse was that, not only would they have to make the attack, but they would also have to make it quickly. The circles would not last long.

He quickly switched his gaze from the battle to where Lueke stood, surrounded by werepyres. The circle had still not fully attacked, and of course it was most dense around Lueke, but the losses at the forefront had made it begin to move more quickly. It would only be a few minutes before they were charging. But could they afford that time?

"Skull, begin preparing to send us all directly behind Lueke's position." Damian looked around, making sure that all those to who it pertained were aware of what he was saying.

Skull looked at Lueke, then back to Damian, incredulously. "You want me to warp us there right now?"

Damian studied the army at their feet, shoved the Sword of office into his belt, and then drew his spear from his back. "Not exactly right now, but definitely very soon. We have no choice."

Skull switched his glance back to the army, and then smiled wistfully. "Very well, I have no complaint. I have died once before, and I can say that it is not as bad as it appears. It may be different for all of you damned monsters, but I do not fear my second, final death. Prepare yourselves, warriors, for we will be up to our necks in werepyres very shortly." If not for the grim tone in his voice, it would have almost seemed like he was secretly amused by the report of his words.

There was a rustling and a general sliding of metal as all of those around Damian and his group drew their respective weapons. Up here, where their lives were not in danger, there was very pronounced segregation between the races, save for the likes of Bryce, who moved from one to the other. The small groups talked amongst each other quietly, and prepared themselves for death in their own respective ways.

Samael, Valdivai, and the first squad captain stood behind Damian, their weapons in their hands, and various emotions on their faces. Samael was already shifting in and out of his Other form in excitement, and his curved metal pole with the spike in it rested on his shoulder. Valdivai almost looked nervous—Damian was glad that he was not the only one—and her bladed clubs dangled from her hands limply. The first squad captain registered almost no emotion, save for a look of sadness from time to time as screams reached his ears. His straight-then-curved sword was held in one hand, and with the other he absentmindedly stroked its bladed edge.

Damian hoisted his spear above his shoulder, with the point straight in front of him. He shifted restlessly, looked around, and, after seeing that all were ready, nodded to Skull. Skull nodded back, and began moving his hands through the air. Tracing sigils with his fingers.

"I hope that you are truly ready, friends. Ready for one hell of a death." With that, and a few more muttered incantations, the entire group vanished from where they had been. All of them besides Sophitia and Othniel, who had just finished stringing his bow and began slowly walking to the edge of the top of the hill. From where he was, he could see everything for miles around, and Lueke's group was amazingly open. He fit an arrow to his bow.

"Are you ready?" Othniel could not tell if Sophitia sounded worried for him, or if she was just worried about herself or Skull.

"I should be down there with them, not up here with the archers. But once again Damian manages to convince me to stay away from the fighting" With that he focused on one specific werepyre in the group and loosed and arrow. As soon as his fingers left the taught string and it snapped forward, his hand was back in his quiver. "I wonder if he realizes just how worthless it makes me feel to say 'yes' to not actually fighting." In fractions of a second, another arrow was attached to the string and he had sighted another werepyre. "I can't live like this forever." He loosed and pulled, looses and pulled. Shooting of one arrow after another with machine-like consistency and accuracy. Looking over his shoulder, Sophitia still sounded worried.

"You'll be down there eventually, and can you even see them from here?"

Without slowing down his tempo, he scoffed. "Hah! Don't insult me." And kept on shooting.

Damian closed his eyes for half a second, and when he opened them, he was directly behind the main army of werepyres. Not all of the werepyres were facing forward, however, and so Damian was able to see the surprise in the eyes of the werepyre that stood in about ten feet away from him. Right as his feet touched ground once again, Damian launched his spear from its throwing position straight at the werepyre that had seen him. His spear flew through the air with remarkable clarity and grace, as if it knew what was to come. Before it had even left his hand, he had drawn his sword and was rushing after it.

His spear buried itself inside the werepyre's mouth, slicing off its tongue and embedding itself into the back of its throat, and seconds later, while it was still stunned, Damian was right next to it, slicing his sword through its abdomen. He was relieved to find that his sword slid through it with ease, he heard a satisfying snap as its spinal cord was severed, and felt the pain in his hands lessen even more as the werepyre's torso sagged to the side and fell from its legs. At first, the two halves were kept together by the last half-foot of flesh Damian's sword had not gotten to, but once the disintegration set in, even that was lost, and the torso fell to the ground. The werepyre growled for a bit more, but with a spasm it died even before the rot reached its heart.

'Good,' Damian thought, 'I was hoping this thing could kill them.'

Even as he reveled in his kill, he realized that none of the other werepyres would die that easily. The first one had been surprised, and had taken a spear to its face right before being struck. Still, he hoped that he could keep up the momentum. He quickly ripped out the heart, ate it, and ran at the second closest werepyre. It was prepared for him, and bared its claws in fury, but right as he reached it, its left eye popped out of its socket, propelled by the arrow that replaced it in the werepyre's skull. The instant switch in visuals that came with one eyes turning over and looking to the side was too much for the werepyre, and Damian was easily able to dodge past its strike and slice down onto its leg. It hit the ground hard after having only one leg to its name, and he separated its head from its body, ate its heart, and moved on.

Elsewhere, events were occurring similarly, and just for a bit his small group made good leeway against the enemies before them with a little help from Othniel. Bryce, Vincent, Samael, Valdivai, Skull, the first unit captain, and several others had already achieved a kill. Unfortunately, they had yet to reach those werepyres that were Lueke's special guards, and were at the moment killing regular werepyres. Also, as each of them killed their opponents and ate their hearts, they discovered something strange about werepyres.

Even though stealing the sustenance from a werepyre's heart made one certainly feel stronger than ever before, it was not proportional to the strength of the werepyres. For instance, if one killed a first class werewolf or vampire, and ate its heart, one would gain the entirety of its strength, but such was not the same with werepyres. It was as if werepyre blood was diluted, and only gave a fraction of the strength it should. As one, they realized that werepyres really were the strongest beings in this forest. Still, for now they were winning, and putting the lie to that statement.

But then the arrows stopped coming, which Damian had known would happen. But it seemed too soon for Othniel to run out of arrows. For a moment, Damian was afraid that the top of the hill had been overrun and that Othniel and Sophitia had been killed, but as he rolled under a beast's sucker punch and stabbed his sword into its chest, he looked up and saw a small black werepyre flitting back and forth in the air so fast that he appeared to teleporting. He was catching the arrows as they shot towards various figures in the melee, and stopping every single one. Eventually, Othniel appeared to wisely stop shooting, as the arrows stopped coming.

Thankfully, though, by the time the arrows stopped, the group had done their job, and now only the special guards of Lueke lay between them and him. The guards were clustered around him like a phalanx, and none seemed like they were going to move, but then the small black one from before landed in front of them, between them and Damian's group, and drew a strange sword from his belt. It was a normal, double edged straight sword, but at its tip, it curved by ninety-degrees and became something like a scythe. He snarled, and any condescension that may have been held for him based on his size was lost at the ferocity in his voice.

"I am Death, both in name and in deed. Is there any among you cowards and animals who thinks that he is strong enough to fight me in single combat."

Like the first time a challenge had been given in battle, Damian was about to volunteer. Unlike the first time, however, he was beaten to it. The first unit captain walked in front of all of the others and drew his half-sword half-scimitar from its scabbard.

"My name is unimportant, but our deeds are the same. I will kill you."

Death's lips twitched, and in a flash he was several feet past the captain, his wings stopping him abruptly with a flurry of wind and a contraction of muscles. His sword was in front of him. Blood dripped from the blade of his scythe, and his red eyes flashed even brighter. The first unit captain still stood where he had been, and Damian was astonished. He had not even seen the strike, none of them could have. A flash of white lit up his black figure as he smiled and licked the blood from his scythe, but it turned to a frown as the captain swept past him just a fast as he had before.

Death sprang back, even as the captain passed him by, and he growled when a burst of red appeared on his abdominal muscles and began dripping down his body. His sword came up in front of him in preparation. His voice held a small note of pain and anger.

"I'm impressed, stranger. It has not been since before the last battle our kind had that I have seen a fighter who can match my speed." His tone was civil, but underneath it carried undertones of rage.

The captain grunted in reply, there was a similar red line across his side, and his looked to be deeper. Before he had even finished his almost-silent dismissal, he was gone, and barely a moment later, so was Death. They reappeared seconds later about fifteen feet to the side just long enough for their swords to clash. Sparks flew from their swords, and then they were gone. Once again they were seen, off to the side, but as soon as metal met metal, they were gone. Damian and all others who were aware that this battle was occurring were dumbstruck by the speed and finesse these two warriors displayed in their furious exchanges.

Sometimes they would appear just a moment to clash, and other times they would meet for up to ten seconds while spewing forth attacks with lightning fury. At first they were on the ground, but eventually they began to fight in the air as well, with the captain sporting wings and proving that he was just as effective with them. Death used the last part of his weapon to pull the blade of the other to the side before slashing from the other side, while the curved half of the captain's blade swam and dived around Death's blade. At about their seventh or eighth exchange, Damian recovered from his dumbstruck mesmerization and began charging towards Lueke's entourage. It was only seconds before he heard footsteps behind him as those around him followed suit, in fact, Bryce even began to pass him by in his first class form before Damian increased his speed. The werepyres, numbering about thirty, besides Lueke, outnumbered them, but they were the elite of their respective armies. At a bark from Lueke, the werepyres spread out and prepared for the charge.

When the two sides met, it was not like two armies, or even two groups, it was as individuals. Each person from the group found another to battle, with some finding two or more. Bryce threw himself forward and tackled the closest werepyre to him, bringing it to the ground and wailing upon it with all of his strength. The werewolf rolled and fought back, using all of its strength in turn. Samael flew above the melee and back down, hoping to get a clear shot at Lueke, but his headhunting was stymied by two werepyres that flew up into the air and clashed with him. Their brute strength surpassed even his, but his speed in the air was beyond them, and he buzzed around them, slashing and hacking with his weapon like a mongoose attacking two snakes. Even though one of them was a speed werepyre, and could have outclassed Samael on the ground, with his specific mutation, none could contend with Samael in the air. It was obvious he wanted Lueke all two himself.

Valdivai met with a strength werepyre on the ground in her Other form as well, and soon remembered why they were so feared. Its first blow with a large ax split open the ground, but she was able to dodge with her insane speed and came around to its side to pepper it with stabbing strikes. Her kama-clubs swung around in arcs and stabbed holes into it with every attack, and in moments its side was covered in blood and open wounds. Every twist of her wrist sent her weapons out in an attack, and each found its mark. It was unfazed as it came around with a spinning, sweeping strike that she came under and began working on its abdomen and the inside of its other leg. It kicked out and she caught the blow with one of her blades, moved around under it, cutting a long slice around the bottom of its leg, and laid waste to its left side now.

Despite its amazing healing factor, which was already closing up the first wounds it had received only second ago, the werepyre was still losing blood every moment, and the wolfsbane metal of her blades slowed down the healing even more. It swung around with an elbow and followed with a slow swing of its ax with one hand, but she moved with it. Faster than it could swing in a circle, she was behind it even as it was still spinning. Finishing her work on its back, and adding to the pool of lifeblood already on the ground under it, Valdivai climbed up its back using her weapons like icepicks and got onto its shoulders. It feebly tried to reach its hand up to yank her off, but it had no strength left, and fell to its knees even as she hacked into its neck over and over again until she was able to grab its head, twist, and yank it off. Unfortunately, her next opponent was a speed werepyre.

Vincent was also in his Other form, and had his sword-knife with him as he battled with a speed werewolf and discovered why they were a bad match for Other form vampires. This werepyre was faster and stronger than he was, and had it not been for the foresight granted him by Dimitrious' blood, he could tell that he would have been killed already. Fortunately for him, however, he was now one of the most dangerous fighters in his group, and he knew exactly where his opponent was going to attack before it even moved. Every time it sprang at him, he would barely move to the side and stick his knife somewhere vital. He barely avoided death every time, but now the werepyre was slowing, and breathing heavily. It lunged at him one more time, but even before it had completely moved, Vincent was to the side, and rammed his knife down with both hands into the back of its neck. It fell, and he wasted no time taking it heart.

Skull was having the most fun out of all of them. He glided backwards, his feet never touching the ground as two werepyres charged. His face lit up with a skeletal grin as he made a sign with his hands and dozens of oversized undead sprang up from nowhere in between him and the two aggressors and charged them. He smiled as he flexed his new abilities. He had not even needed the raw materials to make the skeletons and zombies, he was now able to simply create them. He wondered what else was in his new bag of tricks.

Unfortunately, others were not doing as well in their fights. The humans, both Paladins and vampire slayers, had to fight just to stay alive, and many times fought two or three to one against a werepyre. They did their part, however, and when the Paladins grew in size, they were able to contend with the werepyres at an almost equal level. And although the vampire slayers were not doing any significant damage in their battles, neither had any of them died. They were experts at staying alive, and it seemed that they were doing better and better as time passed.

There were only three or four werewolves left, and that seemed surprising to Bryce, until he remembered that the werewolves, while having kept the lion's share of the troops from the battle with the vampires, had lost all of their best fighters in Blood, Scar, Ghost, Rhave, and Lyke. These leaders left were good warriors and vicious fighters, to be sure, but they were simply not prepared to fight werepyres, and were frequently engaged in battles with strength werepyres, when they should have attacked speed ones. Granted the dynamics of their strengths and weaknesses had not been known until the fight, but other races seemed to be picking it up, and even the werepyres were starting to understand, which was dangerous. What made it even more deadly was that the werewolves did not seem to be catching on, which made Bryce curse their race's bloodlust.

Bryce had been able to quickly overpower the first werewolf he had tackled, and had pounded its head into the ground before taking its neck in his jaws and yanking it off, but as soon as he had finished, a strength werepyre had charged him and the two of them had clashed hands together, trying to force the other one down through sheer strength. Bryce had not wanted this kind of contest, but he had been caught in it as a last resort. He could tell from the beginning that he was going to lose it quickly, and his mind raced as he tried to think of what he could do to reverse his situation.

Damian, on the other hand, had the unenviable problem of having both a strength werewolf and a speed one charging at him. The larger one looked like it was bigger and stronger than even the other strength werepyres out there, and the small one was almost as small as Death, which signaled to Damian that it must be very fast. Damian had seen what both could do alone to the wrong fighter, and now he faced two that looked exceptional. Never before did he wish for his Other form then right at that moment.

The large one brandished a huge mace that resembled a spiked tree more than anything else, while the small one held relatively small swords in each hand. They walked toward him slowly, wanting to make sure that he did not get away from them. It seems that they had paid attention to the fight with the werewolves, and knew who Damian was. He stood in place and released one had from his sword, allowing it to fall to the ground at his side. It may have looked like a battle stance, but in reality has was trying to give his right hand a rest from the burning the sword was giving him. True, it had gotten far less than before with the werepyres he had already killed, but it was still quite painful, and he needed everything he could to live through this.

Once they were sure that he would not try to escape, they charged. The large one took big, lumbering steps that almost seemed to shake the earth, and held its mace with one hand in front of it, as if it weighed nothing. The small one held both swords close for aerodynamic reasons, and ran quickly, but not as quickly as Damian had predicted. He chalked this up to letting the big one keep up, and figured that the small one was trying to fool him into thinking that it was slower than it was. Little sputters in its steps gave away its true ability, however, and Damian was not fooled. Scared, maybe, but not fooled. Once they moved, his switched his sword over to his other hand.

Surprisingly, it was the large one who attacked first. It grasped its mace in both hands and raised it above its head before bellowing and sending it smashing it down at Damian. Damian dodged to the side as the mace smashed into the ground, and this time it did shake. He understood then why the big one went first, because then came the small one. From out of the corner of his eye, Damian saw the slightest movement. Had he not just barely missed seeing even more speed with the first unit captain and Death, he would have missed the movement altogether and died at that moment. Had he not fought against Samael before and seen what pure speed was like, he would not have been able to react fast enough to block and would have died. And had he not realized that the small werepyre was faster than it let on, he would have ignored the movement and died.

As it was, he jumped back the way he had come onto the large one's mace. Just as his feet landed on it, barely missing the many spikes that jutted from it, the normal one appeared where he had been and slashed once at nothing. Seeing that it had missed, it crouched and sprang at him, swinging both swords forward from opposite sides at him. Damian placed his sword vertical in front of him in a block. When the weapons met, however, Damian realized that, no matter if it was an exaggerated speed werepyre, it was still stronger than some vampire. One sword hit the very tip of his sword, and the other hit near the hilt, and the strength of each made the sword try to flip out of his hands. The grinding of the sword's handle on his flesh made Damian grit his teeth, but before the sword was flung out of his hands, he let his entire body go with it. He spun in the air and landed back where he had been before, but not without landing a solid kick to the small one's head while he was in the air.

Even as the normal one fell back, however, the big one gripped its mace and lifted both it and Damian high off of the ground. At first, Damian stumbled a bit but wondered what good this would to the big one, and even began planning to jump from the mace to its head. Before he could try it, though, the large one twisted the huge mace with his fingers and wrists, and made Damian lose his footing and fall to the ground as the better alternative to falling on the spikes. As he fell, the large one lifted its mace into the air with amazing speed that truly did surprise Damian and then slammed it down. Being in the air, Damian had no way to dodge the attack, and even thinking of blocking it was absurd.

So instead, he grabbed his sword with both hands and held his arms bent rigidly, exerting all of his strength into his grip. His sword pointed to his side, and the flat edge faced the mace coming down at him. Once the mace was close enough, he shifted his entire body to the side, slamming the flat of his blade against the side of the mace. When the two metals connected, the mace was like a rock in the ground, and did not even budge, but when Damian gave everything into pushing against it, he did succeed in moving himself, with the mace a lever, out of its way.

Still, even though he was not killed by the attack, the strength behind it was amazing, and he had succeeded only in moving himself a few feet to the side. He hit the ground at about the same time as the mace, and was thrown to the side by the impact it left in the ground. He landed with his knees bent and absorbed the impact, but a flash to the side had him spinning instantly and ducking low while stabbing out with his sword. A sword passed over his head, while another swept low and blocked his own attack. The small one passed by, but before it had moved five feet, it pivoted back around and slashed out again. It had attacked with both swords across, and with one attacking while one blocked, but both were dodged or blocked, but it figured that it knew what had to be done.

Both of its blades swept down, one at the knees, coming first to surprise and cause a reaction, and the second one at the abdomen to catch him when he tried to jump. The swords flashed down toward their respective destinations, but never reached them. The werepyre had been looking down at its targets, and when it looked up, it saw Damian's hand pointed at it, and too late it discovered what he was doing.

"Fire."

Flames flew from his hand and engulfed the small one, who still swung out with its weapons but, with its eyes closed, Damian was able to leap over it when it attacked him. As it went running past, Damian threw out his right hand and grabbed the werepyre by its head. He grimaced at the pain, but felt little more than that. Using the head as a fulcrum, and the werewolf's speed as a break for initial velocity, he spun around it and kicked it in the back with both of its feet. It fell to the ground, writhing and rolling around in an effort to extinguish the flames. Damian hit the ground just a moment later, and immediately charged the large one.

The big one hefted his mace into the air and grinned. Once Damian was in range, it swung the mace from one side to the other in a sweeping blow that utilized all of the werepyres' speed and this one's great strength. For all of the speed and power behind it, however, it was predictable, and Damian swayed back at the last second and the swing passed by him with only inches to spare. As soon as it was past, he charged once again. Not to be stopped, it raised its mace above its head and slammed it down, but Damian had predicted this as well, and jumped to the side before running forward again.

The large one kept smashing its mace up and down in a frenzied barrage, it picked up and threw down its mace at a frenetic pace, without ever slowing or showing any sign of fatigue, but each time it attacked, Damian would dodge to the left or the right. He gained only a few feet each time he dodged, but he always moved forward without fail. Eventually, the werepyre began swinging his mace from side to side as well as up and down, but even then Damian simply vaulted over the attack and kept moving forward. For all of its speed and strength, the werepyre could not break out of the mold of attacks it had placed itself in. It had only needed to attack in these ways before, and now that they did not work, it could do nothing save attack again and again in the hope that one of its attacks hit it target.

None of them did, though, and eventually it began to feel rage, and also fear, as Damian got closer. Having only learned that rage makes one stronger, and only having learned to fix problems by trying harder, it raised its mace above its head one last time, using both hands and bringing it back farther than it had ever before. It was intent on a killing blow. Unfortunately, in its zeal, it kept its weapon back just a second too long, and Damian, having seen through this fighter, had been waiting for this exact moment. He cocked his legs in and launched himself through the air straight at the werepyre's left arm. When he reached it, he swung out with his sword in both hands, and felt it slice its way through the flesh and bone before coming out the other side.

The arm fell off at the shoulder, and the werepyre was suddenly stuck with only having half of its strength to wield its giant mace. Had the mace been in front of it, the large one could have kept it, but it was too far behind its back, too extended. The mace plummeted to the ground, taking the werepyre's arm with it and breaking its shoulder. Without any other recourse, the werepyre gave out one last bellow. It yelled out its warrior pride and frustration one last time before Damian ran at it and plunged his sword into its chest. The rot hit its heart, and when he pulled out his sword, it fell to the ground.

Having a breath for just a moment, Damian looked around too see how his comrades were faring. They were doing well, but not good enough. Most were fighting losing battles, and several were dead already. The one who caught his attention immediately was Valdivai, though. From the bodies around her, it seemed that she had killed a strength werepyre, then a speed one, but now she was struggling with another speed one who was fresh to the fight. It was bouncing around her, harrying her from every point it could, stopping her from resting or finding sustenance from the hearts of the two werepyres she had already killed. She was fighting back admirably, and it was bleeding more than she, but she was slowing, and it was sensing her weakness.

Then, from behind her, a strength werepyre, not one of the guards, but one of the normal werepyres who had noticed what was going on and had decided to come back, charged her, bellowing. She was caught between guarding against the strength werepyre and protecting herself from the speed werepyre, and eventually chose the strength one. From his view, though, Damian could see the danger she was in, and he immediately began sprinting toward her to help her. His way was blocked, however, by the small werepyre, its fur crisping and blackened from the fire, and its chest heaving in rage. He tried to dodge past it, because the speed werepyre attacking Valdivai was waiting for the strength one to reach her so that it could strike, but the small one was right there, swinging its swords with abandon and forcing him back.

The large one was there, and Valdivai swung to the side as its claws flashed past her, and Damian watched in horror as the speed one made its move. He tried one last time to get around the small werepyre, but it blocked him once again. In the end, all he could do was shout her name. He yelled as loud as he could and she, hearing him, spun around just barely in time. Her spiked club shot out with all of her Other form speed, and impaled itself into the neck of the speed werepyre. For a moment she smiled, but then she noticed the werepyre's arm stuck through her chest from left back shoulder bone to right collar bone.

She grimaced, but then screamed, pulled her scythe-club from the werepyre's neck and struck it again. She forced it to the ground and stabbed countless times into its body, even with its arm still stuck through her chest. In moments, the werepyre was a bloody mess, and Valdivai pulled its arm out of her chest. Blood spurt from her, but she was still able to barely begin sawing out the werepyre's heart. Her movements were jagged, and she forced each slice as if it were all she had to do in the world. When she was satisfied, she took a breath to calm herself and then plunged her hand into the werepyre's chest. Her hand came out in a moment, and with it was the heart of a werepyre.

A smile crossed her tired face, but it was more of resignation than hope, because she saw the looming shadow over her. Slowly, her body changed from its Other to her normal one. As it should have been, her wounds did not transfer from one form to the other, but the blood was already lost, and could not be regained that quickly. Her hands began shaking and trembling from the blood loss, and the heart fell from her clutches. She turned around slowly, to see the huge werepyre behind her smile.

"Always wondered what a captain would taste like." It bent down and held her face in its claws. Looking at her. She stared back at it for a moment, but then shifted her eyes to the side, to look at Damian. He was battling a blackened werepyre while still looking at her every other moment, and it was obvious that he was trying to fight so that he could break and get to her. She gave the closest thing a three-quarters dead, defeated, blood-deprived vampire could to a chuckle, and when he looked over one last time, he saw her staring back at him smiling. For just a moment longer, before the werepyre holding her opened its jaws and crushed her head between its teeth.

It tore away flesh from her body, then took a huge bite out of her torso, continuing until it had completely devoured every bit of her, leaving only her spiked clubs on the ground, soaked in blood from her body and those of the werepyres she had slain alone. Only two saw her end, and only one mourned her. Damian slashed out at the small werepyre who still battled him. It was his first attack since he had seen her, and it surprised the small one enough for it to jump back. He cast one look at the puddle of blood that had once been Valdivai, and for some reason he could not comprehend, he suddenly felt sorrow and rage flow over him. He pointed his sword at the small one, and it glowed in response to his emotions. Vibrantly matching his fury in golden hues.

The small werepyre giggled. It was at that moment that Damian realized for the first time that it was a female. When it spoke, its voice sung out and floated toward him.

"Well, it seems as if you have lost someone relatively important to you. Well, don't think that makes us even remotely even, Damian."

Her eyes flashed, and she was on the attack before Damian could question her. He found himself moving backward and fending off attacks for his life.

Vincent, on the other hand, was slightly surprised at the caliber of the opponents he was facing. He was on his fifth or sixth—he could not remember—and had thought that they would be as powerful as, or maybe a bit stronger than Demetrius had been. As it turns out, Dimitrious was quite a bit weaker than these were. However, his prescient abilities far outweighed his weaknesses, and it was that ability which made all of the difference for Vincent. All of these warriors, who were greater than he in every way, were falling one after the other with little to no effort on his part.

Whichever number his latest was, it was fighting with a spear. It was a speed werepyre, and was just slightly larger than Vincent in his Other form. Its spear looked vicious, and every time it stabbed out it was like a flash of light rather than an actual attack. Unfortunately, for all of its mind-blowing speed, it could not land a single attack on its opponent. Vincent dodged just barely every time the spear came out, many times moving before the werepyre had even fully committed to the attack, and he even caught all of the feints and pseudo-attacks that it resorted to when nothing else worked. It thought that he was only able to dodge its attacks at the last second, and so was not able to attack back, but in reality he was testing his abilities. Every opponent he fought had used a different fighting style, and each intrigued him.

He always kept the failings of Dimitrious in his mind, and was resolved to not let that happen to him. So every time he used extreme caution, and even though he had at least four or five chances to end this particular fight, he had waited just to prolong it. Unfortunately for the werepyre, however, it was beginning to become caught in repetitions of the same moves, at which point Vincent became bored. When they stopped doing anything new, he was done with them.

'Three stabs. Stomach, heart, head.' Vincent called out in his mind.

Sure enough, the werepyre lunged forward and jabbed out thrice. Even as his arms flexed before shooting out the first time, Vincent walking forward while shifting his body to the side. He took another step closer and shifted to the other side, allowing the second strike to pass by as well, and finally stood right next to the werepyre and cocked his head to the side to dodge the last. He reached his hand up and grabbed the shaft of the spear, and let go as soon as he knew the werepyre would reflexively pull it back. The werepyre appeared to stumble back and lost its balance, but Vincent knew that it was baiting him, so he lunged forward just like it wanted.

'Fake a slash from the left, spin right and sweep legs, and then...Oh, well by then he'll be dead.'

Vincent pretended to fall to the fake just as for the bait, but when the werepyre spun, he lightly jumped over the sweep, then lunged forward and stuck his knife into the back it had just presented him. It froze, and he used that time to jerk out the knife before punching his hand into the chest. The holy water on the blade retarded the healing process just enough, and when he brought his hand back, it held the heart of the werepyre, who was already falling.

He held the heart in his hand, looking at the bloody mess of tubes and sacks, and was about to eat it before realizing that he did not need it. It would barely add to his power, and he had not been injured to warrant healing. He thought that the gains of raising the heart to his mouth and eating it were not worth it. As he opened his hand and let the heart hit the ground, it hit him with shocking clarity that he was more powerful than even werepyres now. He was the superior being. He turned around to see what else was transpiring in the battle.

"Next!"

In almost complete contrast, Bryce was still locked in struggle with his second opponent. By now he had passed his astonishment at the pure brute strength of the werepyre and had now gone to wondering how he was still contesting it in strength. They were still locked in the same position they had started in, with both hands clasped and bodies clenched in an effort to overpower the other. Neither of them moved, and even though it was night, sweat beaded down their fur. Almost every moment, Bryce thought that he would be overpowered, but then he would receive a burst of energy and would fight on.

'How am I doing this?' He thought to himself. 'When I grappled with the Queen, she was far stronger than I, and this one is more powerful as well. I could feel that from the first moment we met, so why has he not pushed me back. I had counted on losing the contest of strength and continuing on from there, but somehow I keep on pushing against him, as if my power were not my own. It's almost as if...' His thoughts broke off, and for a moment he let go of his eyes. When the world changed over, his thoughts were confirmed. A line of red and orange ran through the melee and back out to where he had designated his minotaurs to take camp away from the fighting.

'Brokenhoof?' Bryce called out through his mind.

There was a moment of silence, but an answer eventually came. 'Yes master?'

'You and the rest of the minotaurs are giving me energy through our link, are you not.' It was not a question.

Another pause. 'Yes master, we are. We cannot allow you to die, as if your soul is extinguished, ours will fizzle out as well. If we may be so bold, this battle is of global proportions. You would not be faulted if you were to use the power of a shaman.'

This time it was Bryce who paused, though his body still strained against the wall of muscle before him. 'Yes, I know Brokenhoof. Thank you for your energy, keep supplying it, but stop before any of your people die.'

'Yes master.'

Bryce broke contact, and focused on the enemy before him. Their eyes were still locked, as were their bodies, but it seemed that the werepyre had realized that Bryce had been distracted, as it had been slowly lowering the strength it was giving to the exchange, and now put it all back on at once. Bryce was not ready for it, and fell to one knee as he felt his strength leave him. As his head fell, the werepyre grinned.

"This is it, werewolf."

Bryce's head shot back up, but he was not looking at the werepyre. His sockets were empty, and he looked beyond his opponent, at all of the life forces that surrounded the battles that were enfolding. Grass, bushes, trees, insects, carrion feeders, small and large animals; all had their own life inside them. The power all around him dwarfed any that existed in a sentient being, and as a shaman, it was at his disposal. He had once sworn to never use this ability. Sworn on his life and honor as an elf and as a shaman. All shaman took the same pledge, and every one shunned the idea while at the same time forbidding each other from using it out of principle as well as out of rule. Never had he used it before, and even the thought of it left as bad taste in his mouth. He hated what he was about to do, and hated himself for needing it, but he knew that he was going to use it anyway.

He looked down again and saw the life force of a single blade of grass under his feet. Pitifully small in its own right, but substantial when considered as one of millions. He looked past the werepyre and saw the life force of the trees. They were ancient in their own right, and their life forces shone greater than any other in the forest. With one change in his thoughts, he saw the life forces of the trees begin to pool at one part of them before eventually branching out in sinuous strands weaving their ways through the night toward Bryce. He began to feel the power even as the grass immediately around him gave all of their life to him.

Had the werepyre been paying attention, he would have noticed the grass around their feet begin to brown quickly, before finally turning black and crumpling to the ground. Unfortunately, all he noticed was that his opponent's strength began increasing. At first it was barely perceptible, but eventually it became increasingly noticeable. As the circle of dead grass surrounding them grew, so did the his opponent's strength, and as the change became more and more dramatic, the werepyre began to worry. What was even more disturbing, however, was the other change coming over the werewolf. It was slowly becoming smaller, even as its strength grew.

Bryce felt himself shrinking as well, and was perplexed. When he finally stopped, he was somewhere between his elf form and his normal werewolf form. His eyes were still gone, and his face and chest looked human, just more angular than before, but in his mouth his teeth were elongated and vicious. His ears were even longer than a normal elf's. His fingernails and toenails were still claws, and even though his muscles were not as large as a werewolf's, they were still larger than his usually were. His forearms, in particular, seemed almost disproportionally large compared to the rest of him. His hair was blond, but matted and clotted in dread locks behind him. He still kept his werewolf's enhanced senses, but now he had even more power than when in his first class form, and regained any speed he had once lost. It was about then that Bryce realized he had gained the true form of a werewolf. All that they had lacked was unlimited power behind them, and the sensibilities of a clear, logical mind to become almost perfect.

A tree off in the distance turned black and crashed to the ground before collapsing into ash, and Bryce closed his large hands around the larger ones inside them. The werepyre towering above him silently bared its fangs against the pain, but still lowered itself as Bryce stood to his feet. It was on its knees before he had truly stood, and when he let go of its hands, it barely even registered that it was free before his hands were around its head and it was being ripped in pieces. He ripped its heart out of sank his razor-sharp teeth into it. Off in the distance, a deer fell to the ground, its heart beating wildly before stopping suddenly. Bryce continued walking towards his next opponent, the circle of dead grass following him, and a tear falling down his angular face.

Damian was now on the defensive like never before. The small werepyre he was fighting was constantly swinging her swords back and forth at him. Her speed, mixed with her natural werepyre strength, made each and every strike she threw like a death sentence to Damian, one he narrowly avoided each time. Most of the time, he dodged out of the way at the last moment, but sometimes he would block the strike with both of his hands on the handle of his sword, using all of his strength to stop the blade, or at least direct it to the side. He did both of these just enough times each, and also with no visible change before the movement, that he forced the werepyre to never be able to choose either pure strength in her attack, which would have broken down his defense, or speed, which would have caught his dodges. These small tricks, mixed with the fact that it was very painful to look straight at his sword, made all of the difference in keeping him alive, and were the only reasons he still was.

Even so, he was forced to move back or to the side with every movement he made, while the werepyre moved forward against him. Each of her attacks were still at a speed and strength far beyond his own, and it was only by the skin of his canines, and due to the fact that she was much weaker than most werepyres, that he was able to defend at all. Even still, it took both of his hands, a larger, more sturdy sword, a strong stance, and the irritant of his sword to deflect a single strike by her. Every time one of her swords swung at him, his mind raced through loops in order to figure out how to dodge or block it.

The werepyre at first attacked only from one side and then the next, but soon she began to attack from every conceivable angle, with many stabs, spins, and backhands in her efforts to pin Damian down and cut him open. She was even able to swing up from below, with her sword slicing through the earth as if nothing were impeding it. Still, Damian was able to avoid death, but with each step she took, her attacks grew in speed and intensity, and something she was saying under her breath became louder and louder. Once it was audible, Damian finally understood what she had said before, and also why she knew who he was.

"Wulf, for Wulf, I must avenge my husband!" It was a mantra she said over and over again, and it seemed so similar to Damian's own rant while fighting Wulf that it sickened him.

He was so taken aback, in fact, that he inadvertently slowed his pace, and where he was going to block, he had to instead duck under a slice at his head and then backpedal back in order to block the next one aimed at his chest. There was a screech as metal met metal, and sparks flew from the friction between the two surfaces, but eventually the sword was deflected. Just in time for her next attack. It was then that her chant changed. She stopped repeating her mantra and began talking to Damian.

"I loved my husband," her words were punctuated by a sharp thrust. "I would have given him the gift of our people eventually," A slash to the side, followed by one straight down. "But you killed him before I was able to," Another slash from below, flinging dirt at Damian's face before coming up with cold metal. "You killed my only love! My husband!" She spun and slashed twice in quick succession. "I have the right of heaven, the right of a wife. The right of vengeance. The right of justice!"

With a shock, Damian realized while he blocked, backpedaled, and dodged that he had felt the same when he had killed Wulf. He had thought that he was righteous in his motives, and that everything he did was in the right. Once he had finally killed him, though, he had lost that sense, and had found it necessary to find a new way to deal with his increasingly morally reprobate actions. Before Wulf, even as a human, he had justified everything through his desire for vengeance, but afterword, he had nothing with which to do so. He had been forced to look at himself without the lenses of justice, and without such a powerful tool for self-deception, he had grown to hate himself and all that he done and allowed to do.

It was with that self-disgust that Lucifer had assaulted him, and it was with that desire for "justice" that he had cajoled him to accept the power. And it was within the bowls of his despair, and caught between the seemingly opposite feelings of self-disgust and vengeance, that he had found his answer. He had cried out for redemption, rather than revenge, for satisfaction, rather than self-disgust. With all of his being he had tried to find an answer, but none had come. His mind had been made, and the question asked, but no answer had come to him. He had buried the feelings until now, but hearing her blindness, he had to wonder about his own sight.

Was what he was doing enough? Was anything enough? Was satisfaction possible, or was this self-disgust eternal? All of his life he had asked this question; unconsciously at first, and finally, when his blindness was stolen, with a full voice. But no one answered him, or if they had, he had not listened. And so he had come to decide that what had happened to him was only what he deserved. He had morphed his self-disgust into a feeling that what was happening to him was justice for his actions, and that his death would eventually pay for what he had done. He had morphed his self-disgust into something far greater, and had thought that it was right, that it was "justice." It had felt right to him, and he was resigned to his fate, until he had that dream, and felt what real satisfaction was like. What happiness actually felt like.

He had been shown that something was still missing. Even judgment was empty. Even almighty Justice was flawed in and of himself. Something was there, beyond it, but it was past his grasp, he could not see it. It was as if it were inches from the tip of his hand, and yet he could not move toward it. Almost as fast as the inspiration had hit him, it was gone, and as he made another of his countless dodges, he felt his old feelings flowing back into him. With only one small spark of it left inside him.

His mind had wandered, and once again a hit was thrown that he had not expected. This time, however, it was one devoted to strength. He did not notice the powerfully charged attack until it connected with his sword, and by the time he realized his mistake, he was in the air. He went back a dozen or so feet, and skipped off of the ground once before landing on his feet still facing the werepyre.

"How can you still fight, knowing what you've done to me?" She seemed hysterical, devoid of her senses. "What have you to say for yourself."

"Some things are more important than justice. And sorry." He held his sword out.

"Hah!" She spat out a laugh as tears fell from her snout. "Sorry will not bring my husband back. Tell it to his corpse."

"Not for him, for you."

She checked herself. "What?"

He closed his eyes and released a flash of light straight at her. He heard her scream as he ran at her, and opened his eyes to see her flailing about. Even in her pain, though she heard him coming. He opened his eyes to see his blade pierce her chest, but then looked down to see both of her sword in his gut. She smiled at him.

"Now both of us die, vampire." She began to twist the swords around, which would have cut him in half, had not the rot from his blade killed her right then. She fell to the ground, and slowly morphed back into the image of a truly beautiful woman, save for the hole in her chest. Damian tried to not look at the smile on her face and pulled out one of the swords. He noticed that there was something strange in the swords. They seemed to steal his strength, sapping his energy and breaking the clotting of his blood. He was barely able to take the first one out, and was losing strength to stand as his hands clasped the second one and began to pull it out of him. It moved by inches, with each moment bringing him agony, but eventually he was able to pull that one out as well. He fell to his knees once it was out, and began crawling toward Wulf's dead wife. Even though she looked human, she still had the heart of a werepyre and even though it would not raise his power, it could still save him.

Even as he got closer, though, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that flooded him with despair. Lueke was flying toward him with teeth bared and a smile on his face. He did not understand why Lueke had not made his move before, but he had obviously been watching Damian, and saw an easy kill. Damian redoubled his efforts, but Lueke was moving with a speed only werepyre's could make, and he could never make it in time. In one last-ditch effort, he thrust himself forward, using his knees to give him an extra foot of length. For a moment, the body loomed in front of him, but then it moved farther away as he fell to the ground. His hand still reached, though, and he still inched forward even as Lueke closed on him.

He decided to face death, and rolled over to look at the werepyre who would kill him. Lueke moved ever closer, and sneered with contempt as he raised one hand in preparation for a strike.

'Vengeance begets vengeance. Death begets death.' Damian thought even as the leader of the werepyres loomed ever closer to him.

But then from the side a ball of black flew in and rammed into Lueke, four spikes shooting through his body and sticking out the other side. For just a moment, Damian saw Samael smile at him in delight, and then the two of them were thrown to the side of Damian as the momentum of Samael's charge hit Lueke. Damian rolled over one last time and saw Samael yank himself out of Lueke before pulling his large weapon from his back and beginning to battle with the werepyre in the air. Samael's buzzing wings keeping time with and even surpassing Lueke's in mobility. Lueke fought with only his hands, but used his forearms to block the spike of Samael's stick. They fought with a fury that belied words, and they flew higher and higher in the air.

Damian watched them for a while, but eventually the steady plopping of blood in a pool of it below him on the ground caused him to finally roll himself until his chest was on the ground. He crawled to Wulf's wife, reached his hand inside her chest, pulled out her heart, and drained it. Quickly, his wounds began to heal, and out of each of them, a small piece of wood eventually shot out. He thought that this explained his sudden weakness as he stood up and looked around.

Amazingly enough, most of Lueke's guards were dead, but unfortunately, werepyres that had still been with the army were starting to attack them. Damian wanted nothing more than to help Samael with his battle as best as he could, but he realized that these other werepyres would need to be killed before anything else could be done. He stood, picked up the Sword of Office, and rushed toward the closest melee.

"Huh, now I have both husband and wife inside me." A tinge of self-disgust crept back into his voice. Moments later he was running at the werepyres that had realized the problem their leader was experiencing and were joining.

Skull could not stop laughing. At the moment, his conjured skeletons were fighting five different werepyres, and were being absolutely slaughtered. The group of captains and powerful fighters that had teleported into battle was down to ten or eleven, and those left alive were either exhausted, fighting for their lives in a losing battle that would eventually take their lives, or were strangely and amazingly triumphing over their foes. Not, of course, including that one captain and werepyre who were still flitting about just as fast as when they had first started. No one knew who was winning between the two of them, and frankly Skull did not care.

His skeletons were being annihilated, and he still did not care. It turns out that dying once can have a remarkable effect on one's psyche. Finally, all of his skeletons were dead, and the five werepyres charged at him as one and impaled him with their swords. The blades shot through him, appearing on the other side, and he laughed even harder than ever. They paused, troubled, and wondered what they should do, but before they could decide, Skull reached out his hands and touched two of them on their faces. Their skin began to shrivel and crumple away, and in seconds they were dried husks lying on the ground.

The other three instinctively pulled out their swords and jumped back while Skull pulled the other two remaining swords out of his body and dropped them to the ground. Two of them charged him again, swinging their swords in from each side. Their charge stopped his laughing for a moment, those kinds of attacks might actually be able to hurt him. However, with a smile he produced two portals right in the trajectory of the sword's swipes and then, as the swords got closer, made two more to the sides of the werepyre's heads. A quick cackle burst from his bared mouth as the werepyres' swords passed through the portals in front of them, disappeared into the darkness, and then reappeared from the second portals to cut off their masters' heads.

Skull's cackle turned to a shriek of delight as the two headless bodies crumpled to the ground and the last werepyre facing him abandoned its sword and charged at him with its claws. Skull stood in place and waved his open-palmed hand at the werepyre who shot at him with unearthly speed. Suddenly, the werepyre came to a complete halt, as if it had hit an invisible wall, before falling to the ground. Skull held his hand out like he were pushing something away from him, and then flicked a finger. As soon as his finger moved, the werepyre stood up like it was a marionette. He flicked another finger, and the werepyre put its claws into its stomach and pulled them across it, exposing its bowels to the air. Skull let out a little evil chuckle as a whimper escaped from the werepyre.

"Do you know what I'm doing?" He asked between bursts of laughter. "I'm controlling your skeleton before its out of your body!"

Skull lifted his hand, raising the werepyre into the air, and then clenched it into a fist. The werepyre's body stiffened all over, trembling under the arcane power that bound it, until Skull finally flicked his hand open. His fingers splayed out, and when they each reached their apex, the werepyre's skeleton burst from its body like a butterfly from a cocoon. Seeing the spectacle broke all inhibitions Skull once had, and he doubled over in mid-air laughing hysterically. He rolled about screeching in delight and holding his stomach with both hands. His laughter echoed over all of the battlefield, like the call of the grim reaper, and even those on his side could not help but feel a shiver run through their bodies.

His laughter abruptly stopped, however, when he felt a presence behind him and turned about. Lueke was slowly descending from the sky with something dangling from his hand. Once he got closer, Skull saw that it was the body of one of the vampire captains. He did not remember which one it was, but he was pretty sure it was the big one. The vampire captain was dead, with his entire chest cavity ripped open and his heart being eaten by Lueke. Countless wounds, both shallow and very deep, were scattered along Lueke's body, but even as he ate, they began closing. He slowly flew over toward Skull with a nonchalance that made even Skull uneasy. When he reached as close as Skull would let him get, he spoke.

"You seem quite skilled Lich. I had not counted on fighting one as powerful as you. You must die."

Skull liked how abrupt his opponent was. He looked him over, sizing him up. "Well, shall we take this fight to the ground? Fighting in the air is so uncivilized."

Lueke shrugged, threw the corpse to the side, and began descending to the ground. "Very well."

As soon as they touched the ground, Skull spread his arms and pointed his palms towards the earth. As he slowly lifted his arms, small portals shot up all around him and bones spewed from them like fountains. The bones covered the immediate ground, and when Skull's hands met above his head, they pulled themselves together and coalesced into twisted skeletons of every shape. They were his personal army, which he had painstakingly crafted over the years and into which he had poured every ounce of his ingenuity. He hated to use them in a situation like this, but he knew that regular skeletons would not even serve as an effective roadblock for one such as Lueke, and he needed time.

While still a necromancer, he had made countless special skeletons. His natural curiosity had caused him to experiment with far more than he could normally control, and as such he had kept those not being animated in a storehouse. Now, however, he had full control over every skeleton he had ever created, and when he looked up, a small army of twisted abominations stood before him. With a snap of his fingers, they charged Lueke. The lack of concern in Lueke's eyes worried Skull just a bit, but he forced himself to concentrate of what he needed to do.

The moment Lueke met his skeletons, however, Skull knew that he would need a different plan. His laughter was dead in his throat as he watched Lueke literally butcher his army. Skull had expected strength and efficiency from the faux-werepyre, but what he was seeing was unreal. Lueke exuded more power than the five Skull had fought earlier altogether, and his fighting style was remarkably economical. Every movement he made destroyed skeletons into dust, and it seemed as if there was nothing they did could damage him. He slashed five out of existence with one sweep of his claw before slamming the other down into the ground and shearing two others in half. Using his grip on the ground, he flipped himself over and killed fifteen more with his snapping tail and wings, while killing a final three simply by landing on them. Their weapons stuck through his body when he stood up again, but he smiled and stiffened his body. The weapons were expelled like splinters, as he laid about him with his bare hands and made skeletons fly into the air or simply vanish in puffs of cloud.

"I hope that you still have blood inside you, lich," he called out while taking an explosive bone into the stomach fired by one of Skull's bizarre creations. He swiftly charged, spun, and whipped it and several others with his tail. Their pieces went flying as the magic that held them together reached its limit. "Because all of this violence without bloodshed is a real turn off." His tongue unconsciously lolled out of his mouth and ran along his lips as he spoke.

Skull grimaced in return. For the first time he began to feel actual fear toward his opponent. "You are a very creepy person, you know that?" With a wave of his hands, more skeletons—ones of the generic kind—burst from the ground, and as they charged forward, he floated back just a bit. With how easily Lueke was dealing with his special skeletons, he knew that these would last an even shorter amount of time. He needed more time than they were going to be able to give him, and as he looked around for an answer, he saw it and smiled.

Clutching his necklace with his ephemeral hand, the only piece of jewelry on his person, he cast his thoughts inside it and found that the souls inside it were eager for battle. He slid his thumb across the black jewel embedded in the necklace and in a moment his guardian and half a dozen abominations, monstrous amalgamations of hundreds of bones that moved like blobs, appeared in front of him and charged the fray of battle with Lueke. Skull once again hated losing these precious creations of his, but they would buy him enough time to do what was necessary.

His guardian had been upgraded since its complete destruction at the hands of Sophitia's. He had been toying with the idea of completely reworking for awhile before then, but had been loathe to part with it. Now that it had been destroyed, though, he had been given complete freedom to reinvent his original design. He liked what he had first, so he kept the same basic form, but now it was intensely reworked. Instead of four bodies on one swivel, he had three different sets of four bodies all connected to the same middle but tilted to the side so that all three were sticking out. Instead of two axes, each skeletal body had one large ax in its hands. So now there were twelve axes, twelve skeletal whips, and and dozens of legs holding it up. It was not anything much to look at, but Skull knew its strength.

Before doing anything else, he sketched a quick glyph in the air in front of him. It took a matter of moments before he was done, and it was gone before one could blink. That done, he began to truly think about his opponent.

'Now then, no sense in wasting effort.' He raised his hand toward Lueke, clenched his fist, and spread it quickly. Nothing happened. He had felt the miniscule amount of energy leave him related to working one's skeleton while still inside the body, but Lueke still fought as if nothing impeded him.

"Hmmm," Skull was thinking aloud at this point. "he must have some kind of wards placed on him, and some pretty damn extensive ones too if they include the artificial animation of his skeleton. I'll have to see just how extensive they really are."

At about the time his guardian began spinning in circles, with each of the groups of four spinning on its axis and with all three spinning on one more axis, and his abominations began oozing their ways over the bones all over the ground, absorbing them into themselves, Skull began to meticulously cast every single spell he could think of at Lueke. Psychedelic beams and flashes of every color flew from his hands, mouth, and sometimes eyes and went straight at Lueke. It was a truly dazzling experience, and Skull had always thought it fitting to let the last thing a person sees be a true delight to the senses before everything went black. Unfortunately, everything he sent simply fizzled out of existence once it reached about two feet away from Lueke. It did not matter if it was a destructive spell, a maiming spell, he even sent a spell that would dye his hair pink. Not a single spell reached him.

"Well, either he has a wizard protecting him, or has one damn powerful dispelling artifact on him." Now that he thought about it, Lueke did have a weird, diamond-shaped medallion hanging around his neck by a thick metal chain. The medallion was golden in color, and had red precious stones inlaid around the edges with one large one in the middle of it.

'So it's safe to say that that thing is what is blocking all of my spells.' Skull was now thinking so that everyone else in his mind link could hear him. 'At least I think so.' Unfortunately for Skull's experiment, Lueke had just finished the last of his skeletons and was sparring with his guardian and the abominations. He was, at the moment, still puzzled by the large white blobs that had surrounded him and slightly put off by the whizzing contraption of death that was constantly moving toward him. At first he made as if to strike at the guardian's legs, as Sophitia's guardian had done, but Skull had learned from that mistake, and with their added flexibility, the twelve bodies tilted on their axises until their axes were practically cutting up the ground, and perfectly protected their flimsy legs. Once Lueke was back up, they shot back up to their original positions again, and by this time the abominations were everywhere around Lueke and where even now swarming their bodies around him, sticking him inside their bulbous frames and trying to devour him.

It looked promising, but Skull had a feeling that the blocks were only temporary. He knew that he had to throw out everything he had in this moment, and he could only be glad that he had prepared his extra protection in the likely event that Lueke broke past his last lines of defense. He had to begin preparations as soon as possible. He went back even more than before, creating as much distance as possible without getting out of range of his skeletons, and began to really work and mold sigils in the air around him. He moved with supernatural quickness, working the area all around and behind him, and the lines of powers flew from his fingertips until he was almost engulfed in a sphere of red writing.

Just when it looked as if he might finish in time, Lueke seemed to finally lose patience. He was mostly engulfed by several abominations, with his legs and one arm trapped within them, but he was far from finished. With a roar, he brought his one arm back, clenched his fist, and slammed it into the abomination directly in front of him. Normally, any blow would simply be absorbed by the gooey mass, but instead, the entire abomination blew to pieces. Guts and sinews and bones burst apart like a stomach that has finally eaten too much, and once his other arm was free, Lueke wasted no time in blasting the life out of one of the ones at his feet.

Skull's guardian was on Lueke now, his axes spinning like a whirlwind. With one abomination still holding tight to his foot, the was nothing Lueke could do save devote his energy to destroying it. He spun, cocked back his opposite arm, and laid waste to another abomination. When he turned around, however, he turned directly into the axes. The blades, spun at intense speeds and slicing from countless angles, tore into his flesh, and in seconds his bones were open to the air. It was only for a second, though, because all Lueke had to do was step forward and wrap his arms around one of the groups. His forearms were as ragged as his chest, but once he got a grip, the entire guardian stopped dead in its tracks. Moments later he had ripped it to pieces.

"Getting really tired of this." Several abominations were still moving toward him, but Luke ignored them and took to the sky. His wings carrying him up just until he decided to dive bomb down at Skull. He could tell that Skull was up to something, as Skull could barely be seen amidst the red glyphs, runes, and sigils surrounding him, and he was resolved to stop it before it became something even more annoying. Just as he was about to smash the strange lich, however, he was rammed from the side, and a familiar pain coursed through him as he felt four horns dig into his side. He looked over and saw Samael pulling his head out of Lueke's ribs. Before he could speak or attack, Samael squared up with him and started throwing everything he could at him in midair. He smashed his fists into him with the force of a lightning bolt, and he even forced him back.

Meanwhile, Skull spared a moment to think that it was a good idea to heal Samael enough to keep him from dying just yet. He was filling his role nicely, but he would not last very long. Unfortunately, Skull had no time and not enough ability to do so. Samael's previous wounds were too severe, and Skull's remedy too rushed. Also, healing really just is not a necromancer's strong point. As if to accentuate his point, Lueke was now pushing Samael back, and blood was flowing from Samael like a waterfall. He was battling on with only Skull's magical support and his own indomitable strength of will. Had he still had his weapon with him, he might have been able to mount up a more significant offense, but as it was he was only speeding his descent back into death. His counter-attacks came slower and slower, until eventually the light left his eyes one last time. Before it did, however, he turned to Skull and sent one last thought through the mindlink.

'Thank you for giving me one last chance at life, necromancer.'

'No,' Skull thought back, as he finally finished the spell that was all around him, 'thank you.'

Samael smiled before being smashed to the ground by Lueke's fist. He hit it with a dull thud and bounced upon impact. Before his body had even finished the bounce, Lueke had Samael in his hands and began ripping him apart. He held the pieces up over his mouth, but the blood had already completely drained from them, and was soaking the ground even as Lueke made sure Samael would not be resurrected again. Once his deed was done, Lueke turned upon Skull with eyes that brimmed with blood lust and supreme aggravation. His anger turned to worry when he saw all of the runes around Skull begin to coalesce in from of him, and he quickly charged the necromancer as fast as he could. He probably would have caught him too, had the few abominations left not just caught up to him, and forced him to destroy them before charging back once again.

Despite his fastest being very fast indeed, Lueke was still not able to reach Skull before all of the runes condensed into a small, read and black ball in front of him and then spread out in a two-dimensional circle between the two of them. The portal was huge, with red outlines bearing countless engravings and sigils, and with only pitch-blackness in the middle of it. Still Lueke charged, and he had almost reached the portal when it began to spew forth bones at an alarming rate. The portal was easily thirty feet in diameter, and every inch of it was filled with pelvises, thighbones, skulls, ribs, fingers, toes, and all other various bones possible and impossible. It was a veritable flood of white, and Lueke was consumed by it.

He was blown back and covered in the first moments of the attack, and even though it never let up but kept on spraying forth vast quantities of bones by the second, eventually he found his footing and began to advance once again step by step. Fortunately for him, he had not been blown back very far, and so he was relatively close to the portal. Unfortunately for him, his progress was considerably slowed due to the huge sea of white flowing into him. It seemed as if the flood would never end, but eventually Lueke found himself right in front of the portal. With a cry of delight he raised his left hand and slashed it into the portal. Five lines appeared across the face of the circle, and then it shattered to pieces just as one last pelvis bone flew out of it ricocheted off of Lueke's head.

After it was destroyed, Lueke wasted no time in lunging at Skull, overtaking him, and slamming him into the ground. He was satisfied that his hands could touch the ephemeral being, and even more satisfied by the sound of bones cracking under the strength of his fury. If the lich could feel the pain, however, it did not show on his face, and even though his chest was practically flat to the ground, there was no sign of distress or discomfort on his face. In fact, all that Lueke saw was satisfaction on the face of his enemy.

"What's there to be so happy about?" Lueke was annoyed at the lack of satisfaction he was getting at his triumph.

"Look behind you." Was his enigmatic reply.

Lueke knew that he should not look behind him. Even though he was in a dominant position, he knew that the lich was powerful, and he should devote every bit of attention to him. However, his curiosity, and also the huge shadow that was growing in front of him, won over his better senses, and when he looked behind, he was glad that he did, because all he saw was a huge white hand coming ever closer to him. With a curse he flung himself to the side. He tried to keep a hold of the lich, but soon found that at some point Skull had placed a portal under him on the ground and was now out of his grasp.

What worried him more, however, was the huge bone monster that was towering over him. He now realized that Skull must have summoned hundreds of thousands of bones, because the beast that stood in front of him was easily over one hundred feet tall. As his gaze swept over it, he saw Skull standing on its shoulder making another spell that was even now adding more bones to the beast.

"Ah, still no blood." Lueke's voice was dark with rage and lust as he leapt into the air and began flying toward his opponent.

Othniel and Sophitia stood on the top of the mountain and watched the battles unfolding all around them. They were still losing the main battle, but now that the huge bone giant was in the other fight, werewolves were starting to see that all was not alright with their leader and were beginning to head back. There were not enough leaving so that the armies facing them could still win, but at least it made things easier. Despite his anger at himself for once again allowing himself to be put away from harm, and also his wondering if he actually wanted it that way, Othniel was getting in a better mood, and whistled when he saw the giant.

"Think you could make that?"

Sophitia's only reply was to "Hmph" at him and say "Just shut up and look for an opening. I don't want my brother dying twice okay?"

"Right," Othniel reached behind him and felt for the arrow with the harder feathers in it. Once his fingers caught it he pulled it from its sheath and set it to his bow. He took one moment to admire it. It was a very special arrow; one that he could never have been able to afford no matter how wealthy he became. Its tip was made from an ore that canceled out any kind of protections or wards or any other kind of magic, and that was one of the hardest known to exist. It could cut through rock like butter. Even just enough to tip an arrow had been a fortune that one the royal coffers could have paid for, and it had been given to him with the sternest of warnings that it was worth more than his life. Incidentally, that was what would be required of him if he wasted it. Not that he planned to. "although I think your brother is doing pretty well for himself, all things considered."

Sophitia had to agree. From where she was, she could see Lueke flitting about in the air, clearly on the defensive with everything that he did. He spent the vast majority of his time dodging the giant's attacks, and only occasionally flying in close and slashing or punching the huge beast whenever he had a clear opportunity. To his credit, each time he attacked, huge craters were blasted into the giant, but then they were immediately replaced with more bones by Skull, who was still perched on the giant's shoulder. She also saw that Damian and the others would have helped Skull with his fighting, but since the aforementioned influx of new warriors had happened, they were doing their best just to survive, and had no opportunities to help him.

Still, it seemed that Othniel and Sophitia's jobs—and, by extension, Damian's elaborate plan—might not be necessary. Skull was doing very well and, in fact, it was Lueke who seemed like he was beginning to lose his edge in the battle. His speed was dropping incrementally, his dodges were getting closer and closer, and his counterattacks were getting fewer and fewer. This continued until finally he received a hit. It was a huge, downward smash that sent him hurtling into the ground, which met him like it was water. He lay twisted in the bottom of a crater, and before he could even begin to start thinking again the bone giant was right above him and began smashing down blow after blow into the crater.

The people at the top of the hill cheered with every punch the huge warrior threw, and for once, Othniel began to have a little hope, but then, almost as if his change of mind had caused it, something strange happened. One of the giant's hands simply exploded before it was able to even begin throwing it down, and flaming bones were sent in all directions. Almost immediately after, a huge rock appeared from above the crater before shooting through the air and slamming into the chest of the giant. It stumbled back, or at least tried to. When it moved its legs, however, it found that its feet were frozen to the ground, and the force of the rock along with its own back-stepping movements broke its legs in two. Even while it was still falling toward the ground, a lighting bolt burst from the crater Lueke was in and blew of its other arm right above the elbow with a burst of bright light that hurt Othniel's eyes.

He heard Sophitia gasp when the giant hit the ground, and looked over to see Lueke slowly emerge from the crater. He flew up into the air for a moment before bursting forth, with speed he had not shown while dodging, straight at where Skull was still picking himself off from the ground. She turned to Othniel.

"Do it."

"But Damian said to—"

"Do it now!" She yelled.

"Fine!" He picked a bead on Lueke. "Will you be helping with your spell?"

"Yes." She quickly spoke all but the last word of the spell. Letting it hang on the tip of her tongue like a dancer in mid jump until it was needed.

Othniel mentally led Lueke by a little less to compensate, took one breath to calm himself, held the next, and released the arrow. Almost exactly as it left his bowstring, Sophitia let the word burst from her mouth and thrust her hands at the arrow. Green curls, like currants of air, shot from her fingertips and sped after the arrow. As fast as it was, they had caught up momentarily, condensed behind it, and then exploded, sending it forward even faster than it had before, with little trails of green smoke following it.

"That spell was a bit harder than you usually do." Othniel was half-joking, but was also slightly worried that it would affect his aim even though he had sort of anticipated it.

"Shut up." She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Hot." He smiled.

"I said shut up." Was all she said before the two of them teleported off of the hill.

Skull, even while he was falling, had begun his spell all over again to summon the portal once more, but when he saw Lueke heading toward him, he knew that there was no longer any time for him to work any spells. He quickly disbanded the spell and began flying back as fast as he was able. His hands flew to his sides as he began to prepare what would probably be the last battle of his second life. Lueke quickly caught up to him and slashed both of his arms across in a scissoring motion. Skull instantaneously set up portals in front of where Lueke's arms would go, then more on the sides of Lueke's head, before reaching his hands out to touch the werepyre. All the while still flying backward. His fingers were mere inches away from Lueke's snout when they suddenly shuddered.

His entire upper body shook along with his fingers, and when Skull looked down he saw that, even though Lueke's right arm was inside a portal and was at this moment sticking into Lueke's head, his left arm had slashed through the portal on its side and was even now slashing through Skull's torso. His mind coursed with pain, and the question "Why?" The portals had been equal, why was one successful and the other broken through?

Then, just as all of his life came into perspective, an arrow burst through the middle of Lueke's chest, caught the necklace around his neck with its head, and was so powerfully sent and perfectly constructed, that it broke the large metal links holding the necklace to Lueke's neck. As the piece of jewelry fell from Lueke's neck, everything made sense to Skull in a sick joke of fate. Even while Lueke, who had not yet noticed the lack of necklace, bit into Skull's torso and ripped him in half once again, Skull sent out one last message through his mind link.

'The left hand of Lueke has a Spell Breaker on it.' And then, his mind shut down on his thoughts, with only one last prevailing image of his sister running through his head as his vision faded to black and he died for the second time.

Lueke had not even noticed the arrow heading toward him. He was so focused on his bloodlust that all else was dead to him. Someone had noticed it, though. Death had been fighting every moment since he and the vampire captain had first exchanged attacks at the onset of this battle. Even though all of his attention was focused on fighting his furious battle with the captain, he had still managed to keep half of one eye on his leader. Even with all of his abilities, though, he only saw the arrow when it was almost too late. It was coursing through the air at his leader, and he knew that something dire was behind that arrow, or otherwise it would not have been bothered.

In that split-second between acknowledgment of fact and decision of action. Death felt doubt overflow the entirety of his being. He could stop the arrow, of course, but he knew that it would leave him open to attack. Was he prepared to give his life for his leader? A leader he now did not even fully trust. Was his species worth him giving his all? Only a fraction of a second later, he clenched his teeth and knew that there was only one answer to that question. He disappeared from sight at the same moment the question was answered.

He reappeared right to the side of where the arrow would be in only a moment, but just as fast, the first unit captain appeared behind him, with his sword to the side. The arrow sped toward where Death's open hand was at that very moment shooting and closing, but just as fast, the captain's sword was coming up at an angle. It was the smallest amount of time that separated them, only a fraction of a second of hesitation, but Death felt the blade slash across his spine just as his hand had been sent the decision to close. His fingers began to come together, but stiffened as his upper body became paralyzed and he fell to the ground. The captain came down with him, slowly changing from the Other form he had taken sometime in the middle of the fight into his normal form, and looked Death in the eyes.

"It was your hesitation that doomed him, I am afraid. It is for the best that he fail tonight. He is not worthy of your obeisance and love." There was sadness in his eyes; sadness at having to kill one so completely devoted as Death was.

"Yes, he is." Was all Death said before looking at the arrow pierce his leader and silently apologize with all of his being for not stopping that arrow. For ever doubting his leader. He looked back up in time to see the captain's sword swing down from above, and then Death saw nothing.

For his part, Lueke saw nothing either. He was so busy feasting on every singly drop of the ethereal lich's blood that he did not feel his medallion leave him. Nor did he see Damian, Vincent, and Bryce break off their fights—some in mid-swing—and rush toward him. Nor did he see Othniel and Sophitia appear only a stone's throw away from him, and the first division captain slowly walk to him from where Death died. He had never tasted such exquisite blood in all of his life, and it was only when began to feel a change within him that he was snapped out of his ecstasy and looked down to see no medallion about his neck. He frantically looked about for it, but saw it being dragged along the dead grass by a root.

The blood left his eyes, and he looked about to see the six warriors in a circle around him. His body had begun to ripple and shimmer, and his head snapped to Damian when the vampire spoke.

"It was that medallion that kept you looking like a werepyre, was it not?"

Lueke screamed in agony as his lupine features began to collapse. His snout began breaking down, while his tail and wings began to shrivel. He was becoming human again.

Before the transfer was even close to completion, however, He shoved his still-furry left hand into the air and shouted one word. Instantly, all seven of them were engulfed in a blackness so complete that every sense seemed to be blanketed by it until there was only the nothingness of the void and the purity of isolation.


	28. The End

This is the author, and I'm glad and impressed that you've made it this far. This story is almost 250,000 words long and about 390 pages 12 font. It's taken me 5 years to bring this from an idea into a full story, so I'de really appreciate it if you ould leave a review and tell me what you thought of it. Even if you've read all of this way without making one, please do now. You can't know how much it means to me. Thanks, and enjoy.

28

The End

The darkness lessened slowly, like the night becoming dawn, and it was only after he could see again that Damian realized his eyes had been open the entire time. The first things visible were small, tiny even, blotches of white, which soon crystallized into squares. There were many of them, but they were sporadically placed, and at first their existence puzzled Damian. Soon, though, more squares began to show, ones of increasingly darker and deeper colors, until eventually they coalesced into the picture of a tiled floor. At first glance the tiles appeared to be placed randomly and with no discernible purpose, with different colors and shapes spread out across the flat expanse of what appeared, now that he looked at it, to be a cavern. It was large, far larger than any he had been in save for the underground lair of the werewolves and the Necromancers, and when he looked up at the ceiling he found that the top of it was glowing with strangely luminescent crystals that dully spread about their weak imitation of light.

The light sent out by the crystals was just barely enough for a human to see by, which meant that it was far more than enough for either vampires or werewolves. Damian's gaze turned from the roof to the sides of the cavern, noticing that there were no obvious exits or entrances, and also, more importantly, that all of the others who had been near Lueke at the moment of his unveiling were standing around him. None of them looked at him, however, as all of them had their attention turned to his left. When Damian turned around and saw what they were all looking at, he noticed that all of the apparently chaotic tiles were actually quite purposefully placed so that they comprised a surprisingly complicated pattern that flowed around the room before finally ending at the far end with a raised platform. It seemed like a square was simply cut from the ground and then raised up a few feet until the rock stood as the highest point in the cavern.

On top of the raised square was a strange object that looked like an altar. It was dark red in color, and appeared to have been made by twisting four large metal snakes together until they resembled one solid mass. Their sinuous bodies constantly merged and separated along the altar, and when one part of it was being looked at, the bodies around it seemed to curve and weave amongst each other until they were looked at, at which point it seemed obvious that nothing was moving in that area. The ends of their tails, which looked curiously flat and thick, served as stands for the altar by propping it up a couple of feet from the raised dais upon which it rested, while their heads each came to the top of one of the four corners of the altar and pointed, with open mouths and bared fangs, toward the middle of it.

Damian took all of this in with a few glances, but his mind was already moving quickly. He wondered where Lueke was, where he and his allies were, and why they were here. He was determined to find at least some answers to those questions, if not all.

"Bryce, try to find Lueke with your eyes."

Bryce's head snapped to the side like he had been broken from some revery, but when he faced Damian, he saw that his eyes were already missing.

"I have been looking for him ever since my 'sight' returned, but" his eyebrow furrowed and he looked back in the direction of the altar, "I haven't had a single glimpse of him or of the evil inside of him. That altar, on the other hand, is exuding almost as much black energy as Lueke did, so I think that it would be within our best interests to destroy it before he gets back from wherever he is.

"That sounds wise." Damian picked up his sword from where he had dropped it, winced only slightly as the familiar pain raced through his hands, and began running at the altar. Before he was halfway to it, however, he heard Sophitia yell for him to stop, and he skidded to a halt, sliding along the tiles. He turned back and eyed Sophitia quizzically. It was only then that he paid any attention to her, and discovered that she was in a horrible state. Her eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them was puffy from her tears. Her face was still wet, and liquid dripped from her nose and chin. She had her face firmly planted in Othniel's shoulder. When she looked at him again and saw him returning her gaze, she tore herself away for a moment and spoke in a voice that was deep with a plugged nose and that trembled with every sob that escaped her control.

"There's a—a wall of magic between us and it, you're...near it and it could kill you." Speaking in such logical terms visibly calmed her, at least to a degree, but when she was done she put her face back into Othniel's clothing. Her hands, which had been holding onto the front of his coat as if to lift him off of his feet, slowly let go and encircled him. He slid his right hand over her shoulder, and brought his left up under her other until his palms rested on her back. The fiercest of her tears were gone, replaced by a stillness that was only broken by the occasional shake.

Damian ached to ask her more about the "wall," but he did not want to distress her any more than she already was. At a loss, he looked around at the other fighters in the cavern with him. Bryce once again looked like he was staring off somewhere in the distance, Vincent had his weapons out and was looking about him as if he were just as lost as Damian, Othniel was carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone and looked only into Sophitia's hair, and the first unit captain sat with his legs crossed in front of him at the closest wall. Damian was about to call Bryce to him and begin to scour their half of the area when he heard Sophitia's voice begin again. It was quiet, and broke half-way through, but he had heard her speak. He turned to her.

"What?"

Slowly, as if the very motion itself took all of her attention and strength, Sophitia looked up from Othniel and raised one hand to beckon Damian to come closer to her. He finished his turn and walked toward her. The captain of the first squad did the same, Vincent was close enough already, having never moved, and even Bryce seemed to concentrate on where he was for a moment. Once Damian was close enough he stopped, and she disengaged herself from Othniel with reluctance. When she turned to face Damian, though, her face was already beginning to form the steel that Damian had always seen in her.

"That barrier prevents us from getting over there, and may even harm us if we try too hard. More importantly, we seem—" Her voice caught in her throat, but she cleared it and began again, even stronger than before, "we seem to be in some kind of pocket dimension created especially by or for Lueke. It is far below the surface of the earth, but also appears to still be within the same dimension. It seems like Lueke created it so that he could have a place to hide in case his identity was ever compromised." She slumped slightly after speaking, her head shaking and her eyes downcast.

Damian felt her determination to survive, and so was not above questioning her now. "So you believe that he created this?"

"Yes," she spoke without moving any other part of her body.

"What would that say about his magical powers?" Damian did not want to know the answer to this question, but knew he must ask it.

Her eyes still down, she took in a deep breath before letting it out. "He's very powerful."

"Wonderful," Damian let his mind wander to other matters. "how possible would it be to warp in and out of this 'pocket dimension'?"

This question almost seemed to perk her up, as her shoulders came back and her head coked to her side. She truly had to think about this one, and for a moment the anguish left her face. "Pocket dimensions are tricky. Warping in is impossible, that's why they're made. It's so that, even if someone were able to track the warp to here, that certain someone would not be able to follow. We were brought as part of the spell and as witnesses that obviously needed to be dealt with. As to getting out, I could get myself and maybe one other person back to the battlefield, but no more than one, and even that is pushing it."

"What happens if the creator of the dimension is killed?" Damian was beginning to formulate these facts into a plan.

"The creator is unimportant, but if the person who initiated the warp either decides to undo the dimension or is killed, the warp is undone and all inside it will be sent back to the place of origin." With each word, Sophitia was more immersed in her words, and forgot just for a bit about her pain.

It was refreshing, so much so that Damian hated reminding her of what was out there. "You will be needed out there, Sophitia. The necromancers need their leader in a time like this. Does anyone else want to go with her back out?"

Before any could answer, Bryce spoke. His voice cut through the conversation like an ax to a sapling, and Damian even twitched with surprise. "I have no desire to go through. Although, you said that this is a pocket dimension, Sophitia, but that it was still technically a part of our world, correct? Just very far underground?"

"Yes." Sophitia was slumping again. "We're probably right under where we fought. Lueke didn't have a lot of time, so he did it as close as possible."

"Perfect," was Bryce's cryptic reply.

"Why? Does that help you?" Sophitia seemed genuinely confused, and Damian felt the same way.

"It was just to see if I would be a significant contributor to this battle or not. Since I will be able to, I will not have to go back with you."

"I'm not leaving now. This is the fun part." Vincent spoke before any more conversation could be had on the topic of Bryce's contributions, and his eyes glowed with glee. "I want to get that bastard's heart for what he's done."

"I feel the same, more or less." The first squad captain replied. "This is not the time to be abandoning the fight, when we are most needed."

Without seeming to do so, all eyes turned as one to Othniel. He became aware of their attention and looked down at Sophitia. Her eyes stared back up at him, and in there he saw everything he had ever wanted. He saw her acceptance. He could tell that she knew he was brave, even if he went with her now. He looked around and received a nod of approval from Damian. The fighting out there would be just as bad as in here, of course, and as Damian had said before, Sophitia would need a guard. He looked back into her eyes and saw fragility he had never noticed before. She had lost one dear to her twice in as many nights, and she was in pain. Something was missing. She needed someone to fill that void, and it could very well be him. He saw in those eyes everything he could ever have wanted.

Almost.

"No." He shook his head. "I won't make any excuses for myself any more. I can't go back with you, Sophitia, even though I can't tell you how much I want to. I will not run away this time. I'm standing with you, Damian."

He winced as she pulled herself away from him, not slowly like the first time, but quickly. Her face was filled with hurt and anger when it met his again, but when their eyes locked, the anger faded, and it was replaced by something he could not really comprehend. He would never again have the chance to be what he could have been to her, but what he saw in her face then was that he could be more than a protector, an uplifter, someone to fill the emptiness. It was almost as if, for the first time, she saw him as an equal. It filled him with more gladness than he could ever have imagined. He realized that he could never have given her what she desperately wanted, but that he might just be able to give her what she needed.

"Othniel," It was Damian who spoke now, "are you sure about this?"

Othniel answered without taking his eyes off of Sophitia's. "Absolutely. I'd rather die by your side than live hiding behind your back."

"So then, am I going back alone?" Sophitia did not seem as upset as Damian would have guessed, but he assumed that he had missed something.

"Yes, unless anyone wants to change his—" He was interrupted by the first captain, who had just recently stood, coughing. It started out just as if he were clearing his throat, but it did not stop, and continued to increase in intensity until he was hacking on his hands and knees. When it finally stopped, he looked up from the puddle of blood he had spit onto the many-colored tiles on the ground and smiled weakly. Damian then saw the many openings all over the captain's clothing, and the bloody cuts underneath them. It was a wonder the captain had been able to stand at all. It was then he understood.

"Death was powerful." It was not a question.

The captain's face smiled again, but this one seemed more genuine. It was a tribute to a fallen foe. "He was definitely the greatest warrior I have fought in my long career. He might even have been able to best me, but his devotion to his leader was his undoing. He tried to stop that arrow even when he knew the consequences. Had he focused solely upon myself, he might be here instead of I. He was a fool, but a brave one."

Damian could not help but smile at the captain, who could insult an enemy while paying him the greatest compliment possible. "I hope that you can see you are in no condition to fight on this battlefield, especially when we have no means of healing your wounds. It would be better for you to return with Sophitia." He could only hope that the first unit captain was not like every other one and would listen to reason.

The captain gave a long sigh before slowly nodding.

"Yes, I suppose that you are right, as much as I hate to admit it."

Sophitia walked up to him and placed a hand on his back, which was right at her side since he was still kneeling. She sniffed, wiped an eye, and looked at Othniel. Their eyes met and held for one final moment.

"Don't die, Othniel." She half-whispered.

"Of course." He replied with more bravado than he felt. "You can't die either, Sophitia."

She smiled, and not one of her fake smiles. It was one of her rare, truly real smiles, and it sent shivers along Othniel's spine even after the captain and her were gone.

His reverie was broken by Damian, who seemed remarkably less emotional. "Hmmm, I never did get that captain's name."

A voice boomed out behind them, and all four remaining fighters spun around with their hands on their weapons. "His name is Marcus. He is a first class vampire who has the Other form ability. He is slightly older than nine hundred years, and has been one of the captains for four hundred years. He was in the battle between Galstryx and the first incarnation of Lucifer, and has been the captain of the first unit since the first Werepyre Wars. Out of all of you, he was undoubtedly the strongest."

Damian, who was the only one facing away from the origin of the voice, spun around quickly with his sword out in front of him. Luke was sitting on the raised dais, with his feet on the tiled floor. His elbows rested on his knees and he was facing them with a contented smile on his face. Interestingly, he looked far different as a human than Damian had unconsciously assumed he would. His face was very normal-looking; slightly neanderthal in structure, and seemed like any others'. His hair was long, straight, and raven black. It fell past his bare shoulders and down to his chest, and even though he was sitting and hunched over, he still looked rather tall to Damian.

He wore no clothing save for a barbarian-looking loincloth, with plate mail on the front, and huge steel-toed boots on his feet. His lack of clothing only accentuated his extremely muscular frame. Upon seeing him, Damian could not help but compare him to Triplecorpse Hammerblow. They were both the biggest men Damian had ever seen. However, where Triplecorpse looked huge, but still seemed proportional, as if every muscle on his body served its own purpose to perfection and everything was exactly where it should be; Lueke looked bizarrely puffed up, as if all of his muscles were simply blown full of meat rather than formed on their own. The end result was something strangely wrong. It was not something that looked ridiculous, or otherworldly, but rather just a tinge on the strange side that would make an onlooker tilt his head in curiosity. There was simply a subtle sense of wrongness to him.

"Hello Lueke." Damian spoke conversationally.

Lueke smiled back sarcastically. When he spoke, it was with a measured tone, but even though he was hundreds of feet away, his voice carried as if he were only a few steps from Damian. "Hello Damian. It is so nice of you to join me in my realm. You know, you're a funny man. You lived most of your life with only revenge as your reason for living, but the most important things that have ever happened to you have come about after that revenge. Looking back, it must seem so small and pointless—your quest to kill Wulf. I wonder if you ever shake your head in disbelief at the short-sightedness of your younger days. How completely self-absorbed you were, secure in your complete sense of right."

Damian raised an eyebrow at the man sitting before him. That Lueke knew so much about his past little surprised him, but he had to wonder why he would bring it up now. Still, Lueke was not done, and turned next to Vincent.

"And you Vincent, you lived most of your life in the desperate attempt to keep yourself and your sister alive. You lied, robbed, and killed just to keep yourselves fed. To keep your own lives, you took others. But then again your life never really started until after both of you died, did it? You've really taken to your role, too. A regular vampire, you. Krystal must be so proud."

Vincent had been looking rather bemused at Lueke's talk, but once his sister was mentioned, he snarled and bared his fangs at Lueke. It was Lueke's turn to look amused as he continued his strange monologue with Bryce.

"It wouldn't be right to leave Bryce the 'vampire slayer' out of this, would it. You've lived your very, very long life trying to protect life, which is just so precious to you. And yet you joined the werewolves, who see life as completely worthless. A true 'vampire slayer'" Lueke spit the word out. "would have given himself up to be killed once he became self-aware, but you threw your hat in with the werewolves just like that. Like it was in your blood. And haven't you done so well for yourself. It's funny, in the short time you've been a werewolf, you've done more for them than many werewolves do in their entire lives. You did more for them than you ever could have done against them as a vampire slayer. You even slaughtered your best friend and brought that young girl into the heart of the beasts' den. Hell, with what you've done, and with how powerful you've become, you could probably become then next King after the old one dies. You could change that young girl after that and make her your Queen. Wouldn't that be ironic."

Bryce, for his credit, showed little reaction to Lueke's taunts. In fact, he barely seemed like he had heard it. He was once again staring off into the distance, as if trying to look at the surface of the other side of the earth. Lueke was given a slight pause at the complete lack of attention Bryce was giving him, and when he spoke again, it was almost as if the wind was out of his sails.

"Well then, anyway, I guess you're wondering why we're not fighting right now, well let me tell you—"

"Hey, wait!" Othniel interrupted him. "what about me, don't you have some kind of thing for me to make me feel bad?"

Lueke seemed to look at Othniel for the first time, and he appeared rather surprised. "Um, I didn't see you there. Weren't you supposed to leave with that dominate chick once you were given the chance? Who are you, anyway?"

It was the complete sincerity and innocence of his question that pissed Othniel off more than anything. He honestly had not prepared to see him, or had even registered his presence until just now. "Oh, what the hell? I'm Othniel, first class vampire, and I'm the freaking dominate one, thank you very much!"

"Like hell." Lueke smiled, he was getting his good humor back.

"Hey, screw you!" Othniel looked like he was ready to charge Lueke at any moment.

Lueke held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Well, regardless, you are not a candidate to be Lucifer's Champion, and as such you pose no threat to me, and as such I have nothing else to say to you."

"Bastard."

Lueke acted like he had never heard Othniel and addressed Damian and the other two. "Like I was saying. I'm sure you are all wondering why we're not fighting to the death right now, and the answer to that is simple. As it is, I could not beat all three of you—"

"Four!" Othniel practically screamed.

"—At once, so I am communing with Lucifer so that he will grant me the powers I own for being his champion. With those I should be able to destroy you all." Once he finished speaking, he stood up, turned around, and stepped onto the platform. When he did this Damian noticed two things, one was the he was about seven feet tall, and the other was that a large gauntlet covered his left hand. Its edges were covered in jagged points, and five large spikes protruded from the fingers like deadly claws. It was heavily armored, but looked surprisingly flexible and fit Lueke's hand like a glove. Damian remembered Skull's last words and assumed that this was the "spell breaker" he had spoken of. For some reason, it also seemed like it served another purpose besides that of stopping spells, but no possibilities came to mind for Damian at the moment.

Lueke walked up to the altar, which came up to his waist, and took one talon of his gauntlet and drew a line along his right arm. He held his arm over the altar, and a steady stream of blood flowed down from him to splash upon the metal structure. Once an apparently-predetermined amount of blood had been spilled, he bent over and placed his chest on the altar, his back bare to the ceiling. For a moment, nothing happened, but then, without warning, the four snake heads opened their mouths wider, let out chillings hisses, and plunged their fangs into his back from all sides. Once the teeth sung into his flesh, the drug themselves back toward their corners, cutting deep lines in his flesh before rearing back and biting in again. It was like being scourged by living beings with malicious intent, and the blood ran out of Lueke like it was being ejected by his body in disgust.

After seven or eight bites and drags from each head, They finally went back to their original positions, and Lueke was able to straighten his back. It took a long time, and it was clear to Damian what excruciating pain he was in. Once his back was straight, though, the wounds were suddenly gone, as if they had never existed. He was covered in sweat, and the splotches of blood on the altar made claim to his torture, but even Damian was forced to wonder if it had ever really happened. Lueke panted for a bit, then looked up and spoke in a reasonably come manner.

"It has been done. Lucifer has been called." He was silent for a moment, then he spoke again in an almost embarrassed tone. "He usually takes awhile to answer, so... Do you guys want to talk or something?"

"What the hell?" Othniel's jaw might as well have been on the floor for how surprised he looked.

"What? I haven't really spoken to anyone in over a century, for fear that I would let something slip and reveal something that would get me killed. I've been living a lie for a very long time, and I've only talked about what must be done, and how it must be done. You can't fault me now for wanting to actually have a clear, honest conversation. It may be the last one I'm allowed to have. And, since you'll all hopefully be dead very soon, it shouldn't matter what you know. Well, either that or I'll be dead, which would also make it not matter. So, please, for my sanity, ask me something, anything." His tone seemed strangely friendly, almost pleading.

"Why are you doing all of this?" Damian had no intention of letting an opportunity to more fully understand the situation slip him by.

"What? Trying do kill all of the vampires and werewolves? Well, now there's a question actually worth answering." Lueke's face brightened up like a child in a toy store, and Damian, for the first time, understood just how long Lueke must have wanted to tell someone about his plan, how it worked, and why he was doing it. "Let's see, about one hundred years ago, my sister, Christine, was stolen from my family by the vampires. We all loved my sister, she was like a ray of sunshine in this black forest. My two brothers immediately concocted schemes to get her back, with Edward becoming E and Galstryx beginning his study of vampires in complete detail. As I'm sure you know, Galstryx's scheme went horribly wrong, and he single-handedly killed not only our entire family, but also our entire town, or city, whatever it was. He killed all of us, well, almost all of us.

"For some reason, I survived. I stumbled through the halls with the countless dead bodies that had not yet become werewolves lying around me. I could think of nothing except to be able to see my mother and father, who had taken to staying in their chambers for days at a time. My body had almost been shorn in two, but my spinal cord and lungs were still intact, so I was able to survive the climb up the stars to the room in which they lived. I had to hold my guts inside my body with my arms. Thinking back on it, I don't think it was humanly possible to do what I did, but I dunno'." He paused, obviously remembering the scene that greeted him in his parents' bedchamber with sadness.

"When I got there, I found both of my parents dead. They had been one of the first ones to be slaughtered, and I began to truly cry when I saw their mangled corpses. My mother was barely recognizable. She was twisted" His hands rolled against each other as if to explain what he meant "around and around and left bloody and broken on the bed. My father, before he had died, had crawled using only his hands, since his lower body and legs were gone, toward a painting. It was like he was trying to reach it with all of his strength. His last act alive was to reach with his hand toward the painting, and when I went toward it, I found that a button was inlaid into the frame.

"I don't know why I did not mourn my dead parents. I wish to god I had now, but something was pulling me toward that painting. Something I had no strength to deny. I pressed the button, and the entire wall behind it fell away. Behind it was a short corridor. Without even looking back at my parents, I dried my tears and walked down the secret hallway. It was very dark, and cold." He shivered involuntarily. "When it ended, I was in a room not unlike this one, but much smaller. There was also an altar there, but it was very crude. Even at that age, I was able to tell that the altar was covered in dried blood. As I got closer, I saw a tiny man sitting on the altar, swinging his legs back and forth.

"I walked up to the little man and asked him what had happened. He said that my brother's experiment had gone wrong and that he had killed everyone in the castle, even me. I asked what he was doing here and he told me that he was doing 'clean up.' Said that some of the people here belonged to him and that he would not allow them to cheat death by becoming werewolves. I asked him who he was and he looked me straight in the eye before replying 'I am the source of Justice, and Power.' I realized then what I wanted.

"I asked him that, if he could be so kind, I could please be allowed to live and be given the power to carry out justice against my brother and against the man who took my sister and caused this. He asked me what I would be willing to give in order to receive such a favor, and I told him I would give him my life, my soul, and all of my organs. I dug my hands inside my stomach cavity and pulled out my intestines, letting him see them and know that I was sincere. He tilted his head to the side before agreeing and leaping on me so hard I fell to the floor.

"It must have taken him hours to completely devour all of my organs, including my lungs, heart, brain, and bladder. I cried like a whelp when he tore my skin from my muscles in patches and shoved it inside his mouth. He ate so much for such a little man. He ate everything, but for some reason I kept breathing after he tore out, bit through, and ate my lungs. I stayed alive, and very much in pain, when he ate my heart, and even though my vision split, I could still think when he tore my head in half to get at my brain. I screamed in agony until my voice gave out, and then I screamed even more. It was honestly the second worse pain I have ever felt I my life. When he was finally done, I looked like this, was declared Lucifer's new champion, and charged with destroying the vampires and werewolves at any cost no matter the time I took or the lengths I went to.

"Since then I have spoken with Lucifer only twice. The first time was to request my medallion, and the second was to ask him why he was allowing me to destroy a race he himself created. After spending an entire year in torment for questioning him, I was told that he was allowing me to do it on a whim, and that he had not expected the vampires to live as long as they had. He was apparently running out of patience to collect on their debts, as he had with my parents. When I awoke from my torments I found that only a moment had passed. I never questioned Lucifer again." He stopped, and seemed caught between the emotions of his story and also where to continue from there.

Damian, Vincent, and Othniel were all caught in the story, and even Bryce seemed to have broken away from what he had been paying attention to in order to listen to the story. He was the first to speak in the silence.

"So you were the third brother of Christine's that everyone assumed had died." In his mind, it seemed as if he was piecing the whole picture together.

Lueke half-smiled. "Yep, we're quite a screwed up family. A vampire, a werewolf, a vampire slayer, and a werepyre. Sometimes I think it's ironic, and other times I wonder if Lucifer orchestrated it all."

"You sold your soul to Lucifer for revenge?" Damian could only wonder if he himself would have made that deal, given the circumstances. At first he thought that he had proved he would not, but then he remembered that he had turned Lucifer down after he had gotten his two most important targets, not before. It unsettled him slightly.

"And my organs, yes. It was not for revenge, though, it was for justice. Whatever you want to call it, though, you all are seeking the same thing I was and still am. In fact, the desire for revenge, as you call it, is a necessary requirement to be a champion of Lucifer. That is why the three of you pose a problem for me. Damian is seeking revenge against the werewolves and Lucifer for the deaths of his family, Vincent is seeking vengeance for the death of his sister, and Bryce is seeking justice for the death of his partner and also for E. What a strange circle the four of us form. Any of you could easily become the next champion, all you would have to do would be to defeat me and then call upon Lucifer for his power. Then and only then can justice, revenge, or whatever you want to call it, be possible for you."

"So, all we would have to do is kill you, huh?" Vincent now seemed slightly curious, in a detached kind of way.

A slight hint of menace crept into Lueke's voice. "Yes, that's all. I should warn you, though, I'm a really good fighter. Even without my werepyre powers, I can definitely take the three of you on."

"Well then it's a damn good thing there's four of us, isn't it, bastard?" Othniel was almost livid now. "I mean come on you son of a whore, you can't just stand there and ignore me."

Lueke's face expressed his annoyance. "Actually, yes I can. As far as I am concerned, you do not exist."

"Then how are we talking to each other?" Othniel was determined to gain some kind of recognition.

Lueke sighed. "This conversation no longer holds any appeal to me. Damian, you seem like a reasonably intelligent person. Are there any other questions you have for me?"

Damian nodded. "How were you able to take command of the werepyres, and why did you?"

Lueke smiled excitedly once again. "Another good question. Well, after I gained my powers from Lucifer, I spent quite awhile just wandering through the forest and killing every creature I could find. For some reason, probably because I was still eleven years old, despite the fact that I looked just like I do now, I thought that eventually I would just be able to kill them all one by one. 'Course it didn't take long for me to despair of that. What it did help me do, however, was to discover that Galstryx and Lucifer were very close to having their huge battle. Once I heard about that, I readied myself and made sure to be there for it. I had expected to wait until the werwolves slaughtered the vampires, as it definitely seemed they would, and then kill Galstryx. Lucifer had told me that doing so would make the werewolves disperse in a confused frenzy, and so then I figured that I would hunt them down after they became packs once again and that way destroy them.

"Unfortunately, near the end of the battle, it was looking like Lucifer and his minions would win. I was powerful then, even as a small child, but I was no match for the vampires who were left, so when Galstryx launched himself at Lucifer, I wrenched Lucifer's sword from his hands and threw it to the side. As I had hoped, Galstryx killed him, but I had not counted on Christ—Ah," His voice caught for just a moment. "I mean Safiria killing Galstryx. When the werewolves scattered, there were still a relatively large number of very powerful vampires left alive. Too many. Actually," His head dropped a bit. "I probably could have killed them all, had I started with Safiria and continued on to all of the others, but in all honesty I couldn't bring myself to kill my sister then.

His head was downcast, and his brow furrowed in painful memories. "I was still young, and she had been so good to me. She had always smiled at me and played with me when I had asked. I remember, when I would scream and cry at some stupid, childish thing, she would always just smile, put her hand on my head, and walk past me." His voice trailed off and he looked down and to his left. A trace of smile splayed across his face, but it was quickly gone when his head shot back up. His eyes were wide, like a child caught doing something forbidden, but soon his face was like it always was, and he resumed his story.

"When it was all over, I was visited by Lucifer. I tried to explain to him my ideas and the logic that was behind me not attacking the vampires, but he would have none of it. He knew why I hadn't tried. He knew that I still loved my sister. Oh, god, the pain he put me through. It felt like an eternity of something that was so..." His muscles tensed and his fingers curled into themselves. Veins bulged and his body began shaking as he searched for a word to describe the pain. "horrible I can't even describe it to you. No torture or death I have seen, heard of, or caused could even be used as a crude example to compare to it. Ugh, it was agony so complete that I can't even remember when it ended or what happened before, during, or after for several weeks. All I remember was one day suddenly waking upon the middle of holding a mewling werewolf by the throat and smashing my hand into its face. When I finally found a calender, I found that it had been months since the fight.

"Let me tell you Damian, it's been almost ninety years since that day. I have matured. I'm what would naturally be an old man, and I would not think twice of murdering my sister." He looked Damian in the eyes, and Damian saw none of the weakness he had seen during the story there.

Before he could continue, Vincent spoke up. "I'm curious as to know how you were at the battle between the vampires and werewolves without having to fight and being able to escape so easily. Also, how does this concern your taking over the werepyres?"

Lueke half-laughed to himself. "Ah, you're right, I did get a little side-tracked. But this is more of a prelude, to that, and it's coming up very quickly. Also, I was invisible during that battle, and the confusion was too great for any of them to suspect anything of the sort. It's a funny thing, invisibility, it works very well, but once someone begins to suspect that there is someone invisible, it begins to wear off, and once it is confirmed, whether consciously or unconsciously, I become visible. You'll notice that was how I was able to be here without any of you seeing me earlier, but once I spoke, all of you were able to see me. No one suspected it there, so I was able to move freely.

"Anyway, After that battle, I went back to my old ways of killing werewolves and vampires as I found them, but as before I quickly saw the impossibilities in that. All of the powerful vampires were out of the forest or were huddled so tightly together a fly could fit between them, and the werewolves were as yet almost completely scattered through the forest, and it would have taken me countless years to get them all. Nor would I have been able to know if I ever was able to kill them all. The thought even crossed my mind to just tell Lucifer that I wasn't able to hold up my part of the deal, but I snuffed that as quickly as it came about. Still, I was completely stuck when it came to thinking of how to kill them all decisively.

"That is, until I found the real Lueke and the small band of werepyres he had acquired in his short time alive. When I saw their strength, and how superior they were to the other races, I knew that I had found my answer. The first thing I did was follow them, listening to their conversations, learning about them, and paying very close attention to their leader, Lueke. Eventually, I had learned everything about him. I knew all of his mannerisms, how he would react to things, how he would talk and move. I devoted everything to the task of knowing him. It was only once I knew that I could be him that I contacted Lucifer and told him about my plan. He liked it so much he didn't even make me pay for the amulet that he said would make me not only look and sound like Lueke, but have his powers too. When I had it, I waited until I was able to catch Lueke alone, killed him, slipped on the amulet, and ever since that moment until just very recently I have been him."

"You killed the original Lueke?" For some reason it comforted Bryce to know that none of the three races still possessed their original leader.

"Yes, he was no fighter. He wasn't a great leader or a revolutionary. He was just some kid born under the wrong circumstances and forced into this kind of life. He was running away from those who were trying to kill him, and those with him were people he had saved from death by changing them to being like him. They were tight-knit, like a family. I can tell you honestly that he would never have wanted his people to end up like they are now.

"After I became him, I slowly began to change everything. It was actually rather masterful, my manipulation of them. I started slow, like I was finally realizing things. Like how we were so superior to them, and how we shouldn't have to hide for our entire lives. They ate it up, too. It was almost like they were just realizing it, too. Eventually, after years of slowly building my troops, training them, and making them more and more militant-minded, I had an army. I could have taken out either of the two races then, and then used their wounded to raise my army exponentially before moving onto the other race, but unfortunately, one of the stupider ones got his dumb ass caught.

"They discovered our whereabouts from his mind, and the rest is history. They rallied together, destroyed us, and would have completely killed all of us were it not for our ability to evade the werewolf Queen's sensory abilities by morphing into either vampires or werewolves. We went black for the longest time, with every single one of us posing as one of them. We were on both sides, and for a time I thought that all was lost. Eventually, we were able to pick up communications and once the werewolf Queen was killed, we were able to assume our true forms and begin building our army up once again at our camp deep in the woods where no one had reason to come. I'm sure you can figure the whole thing out from there. So that's the answer to your question. I feel Lucifer coming on quickly, we should have time for one last question, if it's a quickly answered one..." It was clear he hoped that someone would ask one final question.

"What's your real name." Bryce looked like he was at that moment piecing together the entire history of Darkovia in his mind at that moment.

Lueke let out a small chuckle. "See, that's the funny part. My real name is actually Luke."

After a moment of silence Othniel broke in. "Wait, that's the same damn thing as the other guy's name."

Luke raised a finger, his face wide with a smile. "Ah, but you see, my name is spelled L-U-K-E, while his was spelled L-U-E-K-E. There's a difference, trust me, but it did help me to blend into being him, having his name."

Othniel threw his hands out wide. "Oh, well, silly me, and here I've been spelling your name wrong whenever I spoke it." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Whatever Luke might have said or not said was lost in a loud clap like thunder and by a bright white light that made the cavern clear as day, but that also did not cause any pain to the onlookers. When the light faded, there was a ridiculously tall and thin throne at the middle of one wall of the cavern. It was made from what looked like one single rock, and went up at least twenty or thirty feet. At the top of it sat Lucifer, in all of his normal finery and splendor. He smiled with perfectly-white teeth, and his luscious black hair seemed to shimmer even though there was insufficient light to make it do so. From his beautifully-sculptured face to his impeccably-aligned body, he radiated peace and and happiness as a matter of course. After a short moment of self-exultation, he lowered his gaze and swept it over the occupants of the cavern.

"Welcome my champion-prospects." His voice was smooth as silk, as always. "I look forward to seeing all of you struggle and probably die in this fight. Of course, to whoever actually survives, I will give—" He stopped abruptly and shook his head, sighing. "Othniel, what are you doing here? I mean, seriously, did I not just tell you that you were completely worthless except for your body? How much negative reinforcement do you need before you give up?"

Before Othniel could really get into his groove and send back his indignant response, Luke broke through the conversation. "My Lord, my army must be wondering where I am right now, and even though time goes slower in this place, I assume that I must be punished before I am allowed to go back to them with a new amulet. I think that a full half-minute has passed since I left them, and I would very much like to get this over with so that I can get back to them as soon as possible. So, if it pleases my Lord, could we please hurry this along?"

Lucifer's smile faded from his face, and when he turned it to Luke his expression was as cold as his tone.

"Careful, Lueke. You are my current favorite, but these ones here come terribly close to stealing that away from you. You must know that you stand no chance against all four of them without the powers of my champion. Would you like me to not bestow them upon you?"

Luke visibly blanched and stuttered out an apology, but before he could really finish, Lucifer's mood picked back up and his smile splayed across his face once again.

"Not to worry, Lueke, all is forgiven. Or should I call you Luke now?"

"Luke, sir. I told them."

"Hey!" Othniel broke in. "He said 'four of them,' that means that he acknowledged me." His voice almost beamed.

Lucifer sighed, placing his hand to his forehead. "Whatever. Alright, since Luke insists on being so bloody formal about this, I suppose that I have no other option save to speed things along. As much as I would love to continue exchanging pleasantries with the lot of you. Remember, if you kill Lueke this dimension will vanish and all of you will be returned to the normal world. Remember, however, that even if you do manage to kill him, only one of you can become my next champion. Just a little something to keep you all on your toes."

None of the four answered, except to draw their respective weapons and ready themselves.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer sighed again. "Fine then, be unsociable. See if I care. Are you prepared, Luke?"

Luke breathed out deeply, closed his eyes, and visibly relaxed his entire body. "I am, my Lord."

"Very well, then." Lucifer waved his hand at Luke dismissively, and at the very end of the wave, his hand flexed. Once the muscles clenched, Luke grunted from between his teeth and doubled over. He fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around his stomach, and began spewing blood from his mouth, nostrils, eyes, and ears. Damian and the others looked on as his tan body slowly became a dark red and all of his muscles contracted into him before bulging out. His body was disproportionately small compared to the muscles that shoved out from him, and at first he looked like a small child wrapped in adult's clothes, but then his bones began snapping and his frame elongating as his skeletal structure reformed itself to fit his newly-acquired physique. His bulging muscles slowly stretched until they once again seemed to be only slightly out of place on his body. By the time he was done, he looked more than ten feet tall, had a long tail curled around his legs, and had two horns bursting from his skull.

He took a moment to extend his body out, stretching his limbs and becoming used to his new form, before reaching down and picking up his gauntlet, which had fallen to the ground before the transformation had begun. When he slipped his hand back into it, Damian was puzzled by the fact that, even though it was almost twice as large as before, the hand still fit perfectly into the gauntlet. By this point, though, few things truly bothered him. Luke turned his dark head toward them and grinned, showing off elongated teeth that gleamed in the dim light.

"So, what do you think of the powers granted to Lucifer's true champion?" His voice was still husky with the pain he had just endured, and his chest and shoulders heaved back and forth as his body recovered from the experience.

Vincent frowned, seeming unimpressed. "It looks just like our Other form except that you're red and don't have wings." As if to accentuate his point, he morphed into his own Other form.

Luke smiled past his panting and straightened, allowing his body to fully display its predator's beauty. "Yes, it's true that we share our basic frames, since Lucifer designed both of us, but I'm sure you will soon find that he favors his champion over any regular vampire drivel. My form is far superior to your own."

In response, Vincent only smirked, which was made only more off-setting by the fact that he was now black-skinned and beginning to approach Luke in terms of height.

"Luke," Lucifer cut in to the conversation with a voice that dripped with excitement. "what weapon would you like to use for this battle?"

Luke was much more subservient in his response to Lucifer than he had been earlier. He had learned his lesson. "If it pleases you, my lord, I would like to use my usual one."

A small chuckle escaped Lucifer's lips. "Very well."

Luke held his hands out in front of him with the palms up, and almost immediately a huge ball appeared from nowhere and fell to the ground next to him while the chain attached to it fell along his hands and two handles landed directly in his grasp. To Damian, it appeared to be a modified version of a morning star. It seemed to be a very strange variation, however, as it had two handles twice the size of Luke's hands, with one being at the far end of the chain away from the ball and the other placed along the middle of the chain. There was about fifteen feet of chain altogether, although it was hard to tell definitively since most of it was piled on the floor next to the huge spiked ball that finished the strange weapon. The ball must have been at least three feet in diameter and had at least sixteen one-foot-long spikes stuck into it with little discernible order to their placement. The entire effect of the weapon was to make Damian very uneasy, and he turned to Vincent who, with his new-found memories from Dimitrious, was now an expert in almost every weapon imaginable.

"Vincent, what do you think?"

It was obvious that Vincent was thinking; remembering. "It is definitely a different weapon than ones we've seen, and that probably means he has some strange fighting style to go along with it." His voice slowly grew faster as he got more in-depth with his topic. "From what I can tell, the two handles are used to change his grip to whatever distance he needs it to be at. The handle at the end of the chain is solid, but the one in the middle is hollow, which makes it so that it can slide along the length of the chain with each swing. His maximum arm-span is probably about ten feet, but I would put his comfortable fighting arm-span at about six or seven feet. This gives gives him an extra five or six feet of chain should he choose to extend it all on one arm. It takes the chain seven feet or so to hit the ground from a traditional fighting stance, so he has to hold his weapon up higher in order to avoid hitting the ground with the ball every time he swings it. He will have to swing it at an angle, so that it almost touches his horns, or swing it entirely above his head."

Damian was following along, making images in his head out of Vincent's description. "Which of those two fighting stances is more probable?"

Vincent twitched his head. "Over the head, I suppose. At an angle is faster, but it limits his ability to throw to the side and runs the risk of hitting the ground and losing all momentum if he happens to swing it too low."

"Right, and remember that he still has that gauntlet. None of us really know what it can do." Damian looked around at all of the others, receiving their nods.

After a short silence, Lucifer cleared his throat. "I believe that I have given both sides sufficient time to prepare for your respective deaths. The wall between you is now gone. Go at it!" He stopped just short of clapping his hands like a giddy child.

The four of the instinctively grouped together as Luke walked toward them. His flail dragged on the ground behind him, scraping many of the tiles out of their bearings as it followed him.

"His length is his weakness." Vincent hissed quickly. "When he attacks we should all dodge in different directions and try to get in close before he can get off a second attack."

Luke stopped and pulled on the chain with his hand holding the changeable grip, at first there was resistance from the ball, but after only a moment, it tore loose from the ground and sent chunks of multicolored tiles flying as he began swinging it above his head just as Vincent had predicted. One hand was moving around in a small circle, while his hand on the solid handle stayed almost completely still, anchoring the flail and making Luke look like he was in complete control. His was still walking forward slowly, but then he smiled, and before he could even finish the facial expression, he was sprinting toward them at a speed to great to be seen. Amazingly, he was still able to swing the ball around him while running without stumbling or being heaved to the side by the opposite forces of momentum combating one another. He had perfect balance.

In the space of a few seconds he within range of them, and at that same moment his hand came around and his hand holding the middle handle slid all of the way down to the fixed one, sending the morning star flying through the air at the group.

"Now!" Damian yelled as soon Luke's hand left the handle. His body moved even as the words left his mouth, and his hands gripped his sword tighter as he lunged to the left, sliding on the smooth tiles and maintaining his balance before stopping himself by shifting his feet. Vincent kept both his shield and his sword in his hands, though they were now more like a buckler and a long knife, and used his wings to propel him to the right. Within seconds his feet connected with the wall at the far end of the room and his legs clenched in anticipation of springing back. Bryce drew no weapon, and stayed in his elf form, but launched himself upward with what must have been werewolf-powered legs, grabbed something on the ceiling, and held himself there with one hand. Othniel was a second behind everyone else, but was still able to jump straight back and shoot the arrow he had just fit to his bow at Luke before landing, rolling backwards, and recovering to his feet.

"Go!" Vincent yelled.

At exactly the same time, Damian dashed right back at Luke, his sword lagging slightly behind him, Bryce dropped from the ceiling with a speed that suggested he had once more used his power to enhance his abilities and holding a wooden root about the size of a large club, and Vincent launched himself from the wall with his wings straining and his sword and buckler stretched out in front of him pointing at Luke. Just when Luke's chain went taut and the ball slammed into the ground where they had been only a blink before, all three of them and an arrow were speeding at him. The wave of tiles sent out by the mace were still in mid-air by the time the three of them were almost within range once again.

Luke smiled.

He flicked his left hand, the one holding the changeable side, out to the left just slightly before spinning the entire weapon along with it, let go with the gauntlet hand, also the left, spun around, and pointed it up at an angle halfway between Damian and Bryce with all of the fingers spread out and the claws at the tips of them pointing at them. In just those few movements all of their attacks were defeated. The flick of the left hand had caused a small circular ripple in the chain of his weapon, and even as Othniel's arrow passed through the tiles that flew all around it, it went in between two links in the chain and, when Luke flung the weapon to the side, was broken in half. Without his foresight and his wings, Vincent would have been smashed and skewered by the spiked ball. As it was, he was still only barely able to perceive Luke's actions early and flare out his wings before beating them backwards and slamming his clawed feet into the ground. He came to a stop just in time, and watched as the tip of the closest spike passed only inches from his eyes. Bryce and Damian had a harder time of it.

With his hand still outstretched, Luke spoke a word and fire burst from one claw while a bolt of lightning spewed from another. The fire condensed into a tight fireball and sped toward Bryce, while the lightning arced through the air at Damian. Damian was able to throw himself to the side to avoid the lightning, but he was forced to do it so quickly that he could not recover from his fall in time and crashed down onto the tiles. Bryce could not dodge, since he was in mid-air, but before the ball of flame hit him the large club in his hands shifted until it formed a large shield in front of him that was not only wide, but also deep at the edges so that it looked more like a bucket than a traditional shield. The flames engulfed him when the fireball collided with him, and Luke, having not seen the change, smiled. But as he turned his back, Bryce burst from the flames, shoved his left hand and the blackened piece of wood to the side, and cocked back his right hand. By chance, Luke looked up just as Bryce punched down with all of his strength coupled with the gravity of falling, and this time, it was Luke who was forced to leap to the side to avoid the strike and save himself. Once Bryce's hand connected with the ground, though, it truly felt like the entire cavern shook. Tiles flew everywhere, and a large hole surrounded Bryce as he stood back up.

Luke lost his footing as the ground around him shook, but he was able to recover. He winced, however, when an arrow imbedded itself into his right shoulder blade. He turned around to see another arrow flying toward him and Othniel already fitting another to his bow. Making a mental note to not turn his back to the archer, Luke caught the arrow out of the air with with his left hand and leaped back, outside of everyone's active range. As he reached his muscled arm behind him and pulled out the first arrow, Damian and the others gathered together once again. Othniel looked at the large crater in the ground and then at Bryce, questioningly. Bryce only shrugged as the shield in his hand, singed but still very solid, morphed into a sword.

"I am a shaman, and there will always be trees. With their life, I have found the true form of the werewolf." He said it as if it explained everything, and it was only then that Damian realized he had not been entirely accurate when he had thought that Bryce had stayed in his elf form. Bryce did look very much like his old self, it was true, and he still had no eyes, but there was something distinctly sharp about his face that had never been there before, it was almost as if before Bryce had only been seen through a blurry mirror, but now was the first time Damian could see him for real. Also, his hair was much more unkempt than it had been before, and lastly, his forearms and calves seemed to be twice the size they usually were. Truly, it seemed to Damian, this was what the perfect werewolf should be: quick and strong, intelligent and brutal. But how long could Bryce stay in this form?

"Regardless, I suppose that we can assume his gauntlet gives him elemental powers or some such ability. But it seems that he can only send it where his fingers can point, so he should only be able to cover between ninety and one-hundred-and-forty degrees of his body. We should try to avoid attacking from angles less than one-hundred-and-twenty degrees." Damian was the most experienced in magic out of the group, so everyone deferred to him in that area in the same way they listened to Vincent about weapons.

"I think I can deflect his mace." Damian also noticed that Bryce's voice seemed clearer than ever, but yet had a slight rasp behind it. It was almost impossible to hear, but it was growing imperceptibly each time he spoke.

"Really?" Despite being black and demonic, Vincent's face was still able to display his incredulity sufficiently. "Are you sure?"

Bryce shrugged. "Kind of."

Vincent's mind started working again. "Okay then, if you can send it right back at him, Damian and I should be able to get in at least one blow each. His length is his weakness."

They were prepared, but Luke did not attack. He held the two arrows he had gained in his left hand and shifted his eyes toward the party.

"I think this calls for a different approach." He spoke softly as he clenched his hand. Then the arrows were zooming back at the party. They both glowed like they were made of hot coals.

"Dammit, dodge!" They scattered, but as the two arrows hit the ground where they had been they both exploded into small infernos. Othniel had been the closest, and was blown back and to the ground, but the other three were more successful in dodging the explosions. They successfully got out of the way and swiftly began to circle Luke. He calmly spun his large mace above his head as the moved until they were each a third of the way around him. Once they reached their designated spots, with Bryce in the front and the other two behind, they charged.

Luke looked from one to the other quickly, sized up the situation, then shoved his gauntlet into the ground. Immediately the floor under the three fighters began to kick and heave underneath them. Tiles slid and jumped around as they were torn from their moorings. Damian and Bryce both staggered around, unsure of their footing, but Vincent simply took to the air once again and barely even slowed his assault.

"You are beginning to be a nuisance." Luke swung around and waved his gauntlet at Vincent, throwing out five lances of lighting directly at him. Had Vincent been forced to rely only on his own reaction time, he would have certainly been struck, but as it was, he was shifting his wings even before the bolts flew from the magical item, and thus successfully barrel-rolled out of the way before righting himself and flying forward once again. Luke followed him closely, and slapped his hand through the air back in Vincent's direction, summoning a huge gust of wind that caught Vincent's wings and flung him back.

Even as Vincent tumbled head over heels away from Luke, though, Damian and Bryce charged at him once again. Shifting his eyes from one to the other, Luke shot a blast of blistering frost at Bryce while he whipped his flail one-handed at Damian. Bryce growled in frustration as he pivoted, ran to the side of the magical blast, then began running back once again, while at the same time, Damian simply jumped back and out of range of the ball that was sent after him in haste. The attacks had both failed, and Bryce was still coming strong.

It was at that moment, with both Damian and Vincent just barely out of his range, and with Bryce just inside of it, that Luke finally made the decision. He spun, swept another gust of wind at Vincent, grabbed the handles with both hands, aimed, and launched his flail straight at Bryce with all of his strength and precision. Bryce almost yelled with released frustration now that Luke had finally gone along with their plan. He jumped into the air straight at the morning star's head, changed his sword back into a large club, and finally slammed it into the front of the mace—barely missing the spikes and hitting the smooth ball itself. Damian could have sworn he felt the impact of the two weapons, such was the power that he felt when they met. For what seemed like seconds, they hung in limbo, neither moving forward or backward nor losing power and falling down, but then Bryce's club splintered into two separate pieces and the mace continued past it. Its momentum was stolen, however, and it seemed to move at a snail's pace when compared to how fast in normally went. Even as it came right at Bryce, however, he continued with the momentum of the swing of his club, spun all the way back around, and slammed his clenched fist—which was now covered with the rest of the wood that had been in his hand—into the same place he had hit it before. This time, his perfect werewolf strength was clearly superior to the force of the mace, and the flail was sent flying straight back at Luke. When it was directly over his shoulder, about four feet above him, Damian and Vincent charged in from opposite sides.

'Perfect,' a voice inside Vincent that was not quite a whole thought, but that was instead more of an instinct, told him. 'There's no way he can get both of us. His gauntlet will only get one at best, and we will catch him if he tries to dodge. His mace has too much slack in its chain for him to hit one of us in time, even if he did shorten as far as he could with both of his handles. It's just like I said, his length is his weakness.'

Then something clicked in his head, like a realization finally making itself known to him, and he jerked back in surprise.

"Damian get back!" He yelled desperately, as he himself was already beginning to do so.

Damian, having trained himself to take orders, jumped back almost before he had fully realized what Vincent had said, and even as it was, both he and Vincent only barely managed to get out of the way of the spiked ball as it whizzed a perfect circle in front of them. Luke chose Damian, who was still in the air, and rushed the few feet between the two of them before kicking him in the chest with his huge feet. He followed the kick with a large burst of frost, so that when Damian flew across the room and slammed against the wall, he was immediately frozen there. His head was still free, as were his legs after the knees and his arms after the elbows, but the magical ice which held him down was stronger than even he when he did recover from the kick and began trying to break out. Luke turned about swiftly and charged Vincent, his flail could not have had more than five feet of chain throughout the entirety of it, and Vincent had to backpedal and beat his wings furiously in order to keep himself from being impaled by the spikes. Even as he moved, his mind worked furiously to figure out how Luke had defeated their attack.

'What was that? He shortened his chain... The first handle must house some sort of extra dimension which allows him to hold extra chain inside it so that he can shorten it in case he is caught just like how we did.'

Luke shot his hand to the ground, causing an earthquake to once again rumble the ground and, when Vincent took top the air once again, shot wind at him once again. Vincent saw it coming, though, and tucked his wings close to him so that he was too aerodynamic to be affected by the winds. Next, however, came a blast of fire that, strengthened by the driving winds, flew all around Vincent and blocked his vision. The heat was bearable for him, but his vision was completely obscured, and as such he could not see what Luke was doing next. His mind spun with possible scenarios as to Luke's next move, but there were too many free radicals. Too much had only recently been learned of Luke that could not be easily refined into set rules. Who knew what else he could do? It was in this state of unrest and uncertainty that Vincent was unable to foresee the five continuous streams of lightning that burst through the fire around him. They started out wide, but quickly closed until they ringed him about, preventing him from flying to one side or the other. Then, when he saw Luke's spiked ball come through the smoke left by the fire next, the only way he could then fly was upwards. And even then, he knew that he could not outrun the mace.

'It's okay, though, I should be able to get out of its range in time, at least. Unless...Damn it!' He redoubled his efforts, pumping his wings as hard as he could. 'His chain can lengthen as well as retract. I-I can see it, but there's nothing I can do about it!' It was then, after he had reached the roof of the cavern and looked back down, watching the chain behind the ball extending to twenty, then thirty, then fifty-feet long, that Vincent realized he had placed too much trust in his ability. 'I made the same mistake as Dimitrious. And now I'll suffer his fate.' The ball extended to almost one hundred feet before it rammed into Vincent. He had held out his sword and buckler in an effort to dull the attack, but when they connected, he realized that the ball still had more than enough power. The spikes blew through his shield and rammed into his chest. When he hit the ceiling his breath was blown from him and his ribs were crushed while several organs were pierced through. Blood spewed from his mouth, and after the ball was pulled down and out of him, he still hung in the air for a moment, before finally plummeting to the ground.

As he fell, though, he looked at Lucifer, and his eyes widened. He saw it. He saw everything. His ability to foresee actions sped throughout this battle to its ending. He wished he could tell all of the others what he had seen, tell them his warnings, but his lungs were pierced through. And then he saw the end, saw the choice he must make. He looked at Lucifer once more and saw him smile and nod. Then, as his consciousness began to slip, Vincent let go of his sword. It spun through the air away from him, before falling handle-first into a crevice. Even as its blade stuck up, Vincent hit the ground, and the world went black for him. His last thoughts on his sister.

Luke walked up next to him and looked around. Bryce was bent over sweating and panting, Damian was still stuck to the wall and was trying unsuccessfully to free himself from the ice, and Othniel was still on the ground from all of the explosions that had been occurring. He grinned savagely.

"Now, I wonder who I should kill next."

"I doubt that that question was directed towards me, but I believe that if Damian gets out, he will undoubtedly cause you the most trouble." Lucifer was obviously having too much fun.

"Thank you, my lord," Luke turned towards Damian. "I think that you are right."

Luke ran at where Damian struggled and returned his flail to about eight feet. He stopped, though, when an arrow flew in front of his face. He turned to face Othniel as blood dripped from a line across the bride of his nose.

"And here I thought you were finished off." His voice was thick with menace.

"Like hell." Othniel laughed weakly and began to ready another arrow to his bow.

"Well then, I'll have to fix that!"

When Luke turned around, Damian breathed a small sigh of relief and struggled even harder, though his efforts were still in vain. He stopped, chuckled, and said the words that made fire spurt from his hands. Still, even under the heat, the magical ice melted painfully slowly. Damian groaned. This was going to take some time.

Othniel, for his part, put the arrow back into its sheath, followed it with the bow, and drew both Wulfsbane and his dirk. As his feet settled, he found that he was ready for death. He had done all that he could have done, and all that he could feel was pride that he had stayed with Damian this time. "Only two arrows left, anyway."

Luke stopped his charge ten feet away and lifted his gauntlet into the air, causing five large rocks to burst from the ground and shoot at Othniel, then followed these with a swipe of his hand that sent them spinning and turning under a gale of wind. It was only after this set-up that he spun his morning star above his head and launched it at his target. Othniel took a moment to study the rocks, then jumped into the air, his arms spread out to his sides. Luckily, the wind caught him first, and he tumbled along inside its grasp. Then, like a speck of dust evades the grasp of a sweeping hand, he found himself slipping past one rock and then another. His twisting body went through all of them in only a second, before righting itself like a cat, landing on the last one, and jumping up once more. His second leap sent him just barely over the mace, and when he landed, it was right behind the ball.

Quick as life, his right hand shot out and wrapped itself around the chain, even while still holding his sword inside it. Luke only laughed and pulled back on the chain, as well as bringing it closer to him by means of the dimension in the handle. Still in mid-flight, Othniel flung his dirk with his left hand. The blade flew true, but it was deflected only inches away from Luke's face by his gauntlet. Luke then dropped his weapon just in time to smash his fist into Othniel's stomach. Blood and vomit came from Othniel's mouth as his eyes widened, his ribs cracked, and his body ballooned around the strike, but even as Luke smiled, Othniel lifted both of his hands up with Wulfsbane inside them and slashed down with all of his strength on Luke's gauntlet. The hand was still up by his face, where it blocked the dirk, and as such it was completely defenseless itself when the sword came down between the second ad third knuckle of the pointer finger and sheared it in half like butter.

Luke's face quirked like he had just been stung, and his fist wrapped around Othniel's waist before lifting him up and ramming his right horn through his torso. Othniel was slammed to the ground with Luke's good hand once the bone was removed, and he was promptly punted across the room by Luke's large boot. He wet up in a large arc, then let out a large groan when he hit the ground and went skipping across the broken floor tiles. By the time he finally slid to a stop he had dropped his sword, and his bow and two arrows had flung themselves from his sheath and were scattered around him. He tried to move, but found that his body was just barely under his control. When he finally got up into a sitting position, he took stock of the situation. Damian was covered in fire, but still didn't seem to be able to move, Vincent was still on the ground bleeding, and only Bryce could still fight.

'Was I useless, then?' He felt the blak maw of despair closing in on him, but then he looked at Luke's left hand and smiled. 'No, at least I was able to take out that gauntlet, and his hand too. Sophitia would be proud. Heh, I'm proud. I guess I did all I could.' Then he looked at his bow and smiled. 'Well, maybe not everything.'

Luke had learned from his previous notions, however, and was already stalking in Othniel's direction to make sure he was dead. Before he could even advance five steps, though, Bryce was in between the two of them. He was panting, his unnaturally long tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, but his posture was straight and Luke felt that he could somehow keep on fighting forever. He also felt that he could not kill Bryce without his weapon, gauntlet, or other hand, so he turned to Lucifer.

"My lord, if I have sufficiently entertained you, I would like to request the return of my left hand in this fight." His voice was subservient, his posture bet in a pseudo-bow.

Lucifer appeared to think for half of a second. "Hmm, alright, but just because that punt you gave him back there literally made my night."

"Thank you my l—" Luke was not able to finish the sentence, because just then Bryce was upon him, jumping in the air, spinning, and ax-kicking down on top of him. Sweat poured down his face, but his voice was strong as he barked.

"Like hell I'd let you do that. I'll kill you before he gives it back." Luke skipped back, letting the kick pass him by, but lunged back in when Bryce's foot collided with the ground and threw out a leading right-handed jab. Bryce hand-sprung back, then immediately rolled to the side, dodging Luke's follow-up kick. He came out of the roll instantly and spun around, morphing the wood that had been on his foot into a spike that connected to his open palm like an extra finger. He stabbed out with his right hand just as Luke turned, and Luke was barely able to block with his left hand. As it was, the spike still stabbed into his left forearm, but stopped inches away from the gap between his ribs. Luke quickly twisted his left arm to the side, catching Bryce's arm off-balance in the process, and then wrapped his other, good hand, around Bryce's torso and other arm. Bryce was held fast.

"You are good, elf." His fingers were still not back, but he had to make the most of it. "You may even be as strong as me."

Bryce's smile belied his obviously tiring body. "Yea, I also know how to use all of my limbs." The wood morphed itself like melted metal out of Luke's arm before forming itself into another spike on Bryce's knee, which then shot up into Luke's stomach. This time, it was only Luke's reflexes that saved him, as he turned his body to the side just when he saw the strike, and was therefore able to stop any damage to his major organs. Still, the weapon slammed into him with all of the considerable force Bryce had displayed before, and for the first time in the battle, Luke felt true pain. He yelled, picked Bryce up with his one hand, spun him around his head, and threw him at the far wall. The momentum of the throw ran out before he truly made it, so Bryce was able to recover on his feet and slide across the tiles before coming to a complete stop facing Luke once again. And yet, even though he was unhurt, he was forced to look on as Luke's left hand swelled up and regrew its four missing fingers.

Still, his face was placid. "I guess life just isn't that easy."

Luke lifted his hand in front of his face. He flexed the fist, turned it about, and smiled. "Yep. Are you ready to die now?"

His shoulders heaved with a heavy breath. "Yes, but not here."

They charged at each other, and once they were close they broke out in the fastest, most brutal close combat Bryce had ever been in. They fought with such strength that it took only two clashes between them to kill a tree up above, and he must have thrown a hundred in the space of a minute. He heard their cries in his mind, tasted their bitter pain in his mouth, felt them dying within his own skin, and yet they only pushed him to fight harder. He punched, kicked, kneed, blocked, elbowed, chopped, and dodged with all of his might, and Luke gave just as much back at him. If not more. Bryce would have loved to use the remaining root he had for offensive purposes, but he had to constantly shift it back and forth from his shins to his forearms so that they did not break when he defended against Luke's strikes. Even though their strikes were faster than the human eye could follow, they still stayed close to one another, not letting up for a second. They both knew that the first one to step back would be a dead man.

Each time Bryce attacked, he was blocked, and when Luke attacked, the result was exactly the same. But he soon began to notice that his hits were beginning to be blocked slightly sooner, and his own blocks came just slightly later than the ones before. He could feel the way the flow of battle was going, but there was nothing he could do to change it. Even as he ground his teeth and tried to throw every attack faster, and every block with more precision, his body simply would not respond like he wanted to. He was breaking down.

'It's just like the time I fought Damian.' His mind raced even though his body barely responded to its commands. 'I can't keep up. I'll die like this. I can't do anything.'

And then the world slowed down. For just a moment, he felt a bead of sweat flow down his cheek with agonizing patience. His chest expanded, and one long, belabored, wheezing breath flowed down his throat like he was about to leap into a freezing river. He tasted the blood that had accumulated in his mouth, and was reminded of his wife from centuries away. What dominated every one of his senses, though, was the knee that was heading straight for his chest. It came so slowly that, for a moment, he thought he could stop it, but he soon realized that he had been fooled by a fake swing from above. His hands were too high. He was basically already dead.

'That's the one, isn't it?' He asked no one in particular.

'Yes.' a voice that sounded like an acorn growing into an oak answered him. 'We have allowed you to use our lives because we realize the depth of your conviction, and because you have never hurt us before in any way. But now you will die, and the loss of all of our family will have been in vain. We have given you this moment because we can save you, and because you have the ability to be a great influence on this land. However, you must promise us two things. The first is that you will allow us to completely absorb your werewolf abilities in order to help sustain us from the damage you have caused, and the second is that you will stay in this forest and tend to the trees until as many as you have destroyed today have regrown.'

The knee still continued to grow closer, but Bryce had to think. At first, the idea of giving up his werewolf abilities terrified him, because he would have to lose his eyes. But then he realized that he had fought most of this battle without his eyes, and that when he had looked at Serenade with and without his eyes, she was beautiful either way. It was then that he realized what this decision was truly about. Serenade was all that mattered to him at this point.

'Would she live such a...mundane life, just to be with me?' The thought disturbed him, but he found that, inside himself, he already knew the answer. 'At least, with only my inner sight, I'll never see her as anything besides the true beauty that she is.'

'Entity,' he paused. 'I accept.'

'Very well.' And just like that, time sped back up until it felt like it was faster than it had ever been, and the knee slammed into his chest faster than death. Bryce's world went black.

Damian watched Luke's battles against Othniel, Vincent, and Bryce with increasing desperation. The fire spell he had activated had still only taken out about a third of the ice, and he was still almost completely trapped behind it. It was beginning to become clear to him that he would not be able to free himself before Luke overcame and butchered his comrades before killing him as well.

His mind screamed within him. 'There must be something I can do. I have to save them! They came here because of me, and now they are dying to save me. I cannot let them die. But what can I do? I am not strong enough to get out of here, which means that I am not strong enough to kill him on my own. I need more power, more...' An image flashed through his mind of Wulf's arms being ripped from their sockets, swiftly followed by another of Vincent in his Other form being slammed into the wall by Damian's reddening hand. He then knew. No, he had known all along that it must come to this. He had deceived himself into thinking that having E's sword would even the odds and allow him to fight without Lucifer's power, but inside, he had always known that he would give in. And yet still, he remembered those feelings when he had first met Lucifer, had seen his power and his face. He knew that this was wrong. Power in and of itself would only destroy him.

At that moment, Bryce was slammed back like a rag doll by a huge knee to his chest from Luke. His limbs went flying in all directions, but before he even hit the ground, Luke had caught up to him, grabbed him in one hand, and slammed him down. Damian watched in horror as Luke raised his right hand above his head and shot his fist down at Bryce. But then his fist connected with Bryce's upraised palm, and it stopped dead. The ground and tiles around Bryce broke down from the sheer strength of the smash, but Bryce's arm remained taught, and one moment later Luke was blown away and onto his back by another palm strike to his ribs. The expression on Luke's face was one of bewilderment and, for the first time, fear. Damian was just as surprised. How could Bryce have suddenly become so powerful.

Bryce stood back to his feet. He looked fine, and just for one moment, Damian allowed himself to believe that he would not have to make the difficult decision, but then blood began to pour from Bryce's mouth and he fell to his knees. Spit, blood, and vomit came from his mouth, staining the tiles under him, and Damian realized that this must have been one final attack from Bryce. Luke stood shakily, and for a moment he did not seem to be able to process what was going on, but then his grin returned. He began walking toward where he had dropped his mace.

It was then that Damian lost all hope. He looked up at Lucifer, who he found was staring at him intently. Lucifer for once looked completely serious, almost saddened, and he extended his hand, palm up, toward Damian. Damian knew what was being offered. He needed to use his Other form, but he could not without Lucifer taking control. He knew that he would have to damn himself to save those around him. His eyes met with Lucifer's, and then dropped to the ground. His body slumped in the ice.

Luke, having recovered his mace, walked toward Bryce, who was still spewing bodily fluids. The weapon began to swing in his hands, but then he stopped, grimaced, and reached his hand into his ribcage before pulling out the wooden knife Bryce had pushed through them with his last strike. His smile turned savage. "Well done, Bryce," He wondered which of his organs had been punctured, and hoped it had not been a lung. Being in this demonic form made every weakness harder to recognize. He began swinging his mace over his head once again. "but now it is goodbye. I hope that your sins as a werewolf keep you from whatever paradise the elves believe you go to." He swung the flail over his head one more time before letting go with his left hand and flinging the ball a full fifty feet at Bryce.

Bryce stared at his death slowly becoming bigger in his sight and wished that he could move his body. For reasons he could now understand, he thought last of Serenade. 'At least now I won't have to see her die first. That's a relief.' The ball was almost upon him, and he forced himself to sit back on his heels, refusing to look away from what was coming. He did not even allow himself to blink as he stared down his death. For no reason, and not brought about by his mind, a short, sharp, angry laugh burst from his lips. It made him smile. 'I guess this is what it means to laugh at death.' He was ready.

But then something blocked his vision. Everything in front of him was simply a dark blur, before he saw the ball go flying by him, its speed no lessened by being redirected. He slowly lifted his head and saw, with his mind's eye, another demon standing in front of him. In its hands was the Sword of Office, and the evil emitted by the creature battled against the purity shining from the blade. The demon's hands were steaming from where they held the sword, and blood dripped from them. Bones were already beginning to sprout from every imaginable area on its body.

"Well, that makes... No sense." He slurred, before falling to the ground, unconscious.

"You are unfit to wield me!" The Sword of Office screamed in Damian's mind. He knew it was right, too. More so than it had ever been. He could feel his body, and was disgusted by the changes he felt taking place. He was growing no wings, but spiked bones were shooting from the bottoms of his feet, and when he began sprinting at Luke, he found that they increased his already-impressive speed to dizzying levels. Luke looked to be the least affected by Damian's change, and did not change his face as he quickly retracted his mace and stood swinging it in the air.

Damian could tell that he had grown. He was not as tall as Luke, but he was pretty close. When he yelled out, though, he was surprised by the gravelly, low-pitched voice that came from his mutated voice box.

"It ends now, Luke."

"Yes it does, Damian." His mace was swinging in a wide arc low to the ground, forcing Damian to circle him instead of run straight. "It's funny, I always knew it would be you who accepted Lucifer's gift. You were always so preoccupied with saving, or avenging, that you cared nothing for what it was you were doing. You convinced yourself that you were doing the right thing because it was for other people, like your family, your people, or your friends, but in reality, we both know you just want power so that you can kill and try to make yourself feel better. Try to salve your pathetic psychological scars with violence and—"

His voice was cut off when Damian disappeared in front of his eyes. He was still startled when Damian reappeared right at the the edge of his vision, his sword held in both hands and swinging upward so as to not attract attention. Luke saw it a second too soon, though, and was able to step back, retract his morning star to four feet, and slam it down on the blade. The weapons clashed, and Damian's sword went limp directly before major impact, so that both weapons passed by one another without any force wasted. Luke spun after the strike and swung the mace around him, hoping to sweep Damian's feet out from under him, or at least make him dodge so that Luke could gain momentum and distance on him. But Damian instead tightened his excruciating hold on his sword and slammed its edge into the mace. The two weapons connected right at Damian's sword's apex, but too soon for the mace to gather its full power. As such, when the two weapons clashed, they both lost their momentum and stopped.

Luke growled and kicked out with his large boot just as the ball hit the ground, but Damian shifted to the side, let the attack pass him by, and then stabbed his left elbow spike into and through Luke's foot. The bone started at the back end of Damian's forearm, and as such pointed away from his hand, allowing him to yank his arm in and pull Luke toward him. With Luke off-balance, Damian was free to pull his elbow spike out, lift his left arm up, and slash four large furrows into Luke's closest shoulder before kicking him back and away. Luke grunted as the bones in Damian's foot left a shoe print of stabs along his ribs, but felt more pain from where the strike aggravated the wound previously given by Bryce in that same area.

Damian was already charging by the time Luke had managed to stop his movement, which caused Lucifer's champion to curse and lengthen the chain before whipping his flail out at the steadily increasing figure. Once again Damian planted his feet into the tiles, cracking them, and slammed his sword into the spiked ball. This time, however, the added power from the extra chain, along with the fact that Luke had manged to perfectly control the sling so that the mace hit Damian right as it snapped, forced the vampire demon back several feet before his clenched muscles finally released and he shoved the weapon to the side with a heave of his shoulders. Despite his best efforts to remain stationary, two large troughs had been carved in the ground where the bones in his feet had caught them, and Damian had been forced back.

Faster than any would think possible, Luke pulled his mace back top him, lengthened the chain while winging it behind his head, and sent it back out as it came back around to his left hand. He wasted no movements, and was already sprinting at Damian before his mace had even reached his sword. Once again Damian was forced to clash with the attack, as it was sent too fast for him to dodge to the side, and once again, when the weapons clashed, he was sent even further back than the first time. This time the lines went slightly off to the side, the slashes along the ground proving a perfect guiding path for Luke, who was on Damian before the vampire had even managed to bring his sword back from his previous strike. The flail was considerably shortened now, which allowed Luke to fight with it in close combat with no handicaps. It came down from the side with the inevitability of the setting sun.

Damian swung back with all of his strength, and since the chain was shortened, was able to launch the ball away without moving back, but Luke would not be denied. He came back with another swing from the other side and, when that one was deflected as well, came back with another and another and another and another. Damian met each of Luke's attacks with his own perfect counter, and even though Luke swung from all angles, he kept his eyes directly in front of him and shot his sword out, ignoring the searing, unbearable pain in his hands that only extrapolated with each contact. Each time they met, the mace snapped, and for a moment it looked like Damian would break, but then he sent it away just like all of the others, making it look like he could take thousands more. Luke himself followed each attack with a slight hesitation, mimicking Damian's, before ripping his weapon around and beginning again. They would swing, meet, hesitate from the strength, break, and start back again. Luke sent far more attacks than Damian, but every counter Damian sent his way forced Luke to abort an attack to either bend out of the way or catch it with his weapon.

At first they stood still, only moving their upper bodies and occasionally bending at the knees or twisting at the hips to gain power, as they threw their countless blows at one another, and just absorbed each others' attacks while never letting their feet move as much as an inch. Then, however, they began to move. Never letting up their countless attacks against one another, they slowly began shifting, side-stepping, dodging, and spinning as they continued their dance. Their standing battle slowly turned to one of kneeling, dodging, rolling, leaping, and running, and yet they still picked up the pace and moved faster.

Instead of just swinging their weapons with all of their power, they sent out kicks, trips, slashes with their hands, and headbutts. And every time they spun or rolled, they tried to sweep each others' legs out from under them with their tails. As they struggled in their battle to crush the other, they began to use traits only available to them. Luke began sweeping his wings low, flowing them behind him to try to distract Damian, and sometimes simply punching them out to hit him, while Damian used the spikes that had sprouted from his elbows, fingers, feet, knees, and tail to stab at Luke when he least expected it. They looked like complete opposites, with Damian covered in jagged spikes and attacking in straight lines, and Luke looking completely smooth and attacking in circles.

Countless times they butted horns with one another, and countless cuts and abrasions began showing on their bodies almost as if they had been created by magic. The wounds slowly increased in size and number as the battle wore on and they both scored dozens of hits on each other, but nothing definitive was landed throughout what seemed like hours of their close-quarters battle. All the time, though, Damian was forced to ignore the sword screaming inside his head how unworthy he was, the pain in his hands that made them feel like they were being stuck in the center of the sun, and also his own nagging mind telling him that everything Luke and the sword were saying was true. The bleeding in his hands was not helping anything, either. He had to force all of those out of his mind now, though. He could think about them later. His vision narrowed, and for a time all that existed in life was the swinging of his sword, the shuffling and lunging of his feet, and the dodging and shifting of his body. He was a being of pure war incarnate.

Their clashes continued unabated, and each of them strained every muscle as they countered and clashed with strikes again and again. Both of them moved faster than any the other had ever seen, and they appeared to only be getting faster as the battle wore on. Even with the great speed of their attacks, though, each and every one still maintained the ability to end the fight if it managed to make contact. Every blow was a deathblow, and thrown as if it were only a feint. At first there was complete parity between the two, but then the advantage began shifting, first one way and then the other. First Damian would catch a strike too soon and would be able to lunge in and make Luke retreat, but then Luke would somehow increase the power of his strikes and put Damian on the defensive. The momentum was almost constantly shifting, only stopped sporadically by short moments of stalemates, and yet, even through all of the ups and downs, there was still a feeling of equality that permeated throughout. Damian's speed would catch Luke's power, or the sword would chip at the Mace before being blown back. Every little detail only served to enforce the fact that the two of them could have battled for days, or even centuries, if need be.

But then it ended.

Damian brought his hands back for just another swing to defend Luke's attack, but something felt wrong. Either he shot his hands back too quickly, or the sword had finally eaten too much of his hands away for him to keep any semblance of a hold on it. Whatever it was that had caused it, though, when he realized what was happening it was too late. The Sword of Office slipped from his hands and went sailing through the air behind him. For one shock-filled moment, his mind did not register what had happened to him, but when it saw Luke's mace coming along at his left side, full control was jolted back into his body. He jumped back as far as he could in one movement, wrapped his tail around his left arm, and held it up to his side in a pitiful attempt at defending the attack. His mind was focused solely on surviving the attack he knew he could not avoid, and he barely flinched when the mace extended mid-swing until it caught up with him and slammed into his side. Even with his demonic powers, he still gasped in pain when three spikes pierced his body. The lowest one stabbed through his upper thigh, the highest went through his shoulder muscle before sticking into his jaw, and the middle one rammed through his wrapped tail and arm before sticking about three inches into his ribs. For a moment, he blacked out from the pain brought on by the impact of the weapon colliding with him and the spikes bursting into him, but he woke just in time to roll to the side and out of the way of Luke's attempted downward finishing strike.

He had apparently been blown back quite a few feet, but he could still see Luke's grin turn feral when the champion saw Damian's damaged body. He swung back down once again in only a second, despite being dozens of feet away and, when Damian rolled out of the way of that one as well, swiped his weapon to the side like he was reaping the air on his way to Damian. Damian was still on the ground, but he was able to move faster than he ever thought possible. Bones shot from his spinal cord, lifting him into the air and turning him back to standing. Once his feet his the ground, the bones on his feet allowed him to begin sprinting away from the attack. Had he not retracted the bones protruding from his spine, they would have been caught by the mace, but as it was, he was able to dodge the strike by inches and continue running before turning around. He threw himself down, ducking under a straight shot from Luke, then jumped to the side and avoided another sideways strike.

He was bleeding in many different places, and it hurt like hell to move his left leg and arm. He blocked out all of his pain and problems, though, and allowed only one thought to control him. 'I need to get the sword! In order to protect them I have to get it.'

But then another thought crept though his single-mindedness.

'It is right. I am not fit to wield that sword. I never was, but now I am completely divorced from what it was originally meant to accomplish. I am a demon now, it is what I have chosen, I should fight the part.' He still faced Luke, waiting on the balls of his feet for the next strike he would send his way, but he risked a glance at Lucifer. 'Lucifer would give me a weapon, definitely. He's always wanted me as his champion, anyway. He would favor me, would probably even heal me. I am already fighting to be his champion anyway... This would just be a means to an end. I have... I've already accepted his power with this form, what difference would fully accepting his help make? Hell, I'm already...Scum.'

It was with that final thought that he felt his mind shift. His face hardened, and in one smooth motion he had spun around and was sprinting back to the sword. His mind was screaming at him to not keep his back turned to Luke, that he was far too over-exposed, but he kept on running as fast as possible. He counted seconds in his head, and jumped to one side as best as he was able to, but even though his timing was perfect, he was still clipped by the spiked ball spinning past him. It dug into his right arm and the lower back of his torso, but as he turned with the strike, the spikes came out, and the ball was soon shooting its way back to its owner. He felt his arm go numb, and suddenly breathing was harder than it had been before, but he gritted his teeth through the pain and kept his feet moving. Blood was now squirting from his left thigh with every step he took, but he still ran until he reached where the sword had fallen. When he snatched it up and spun around in one motion, he expected it to scream at him, to taunt him with his faults and sins, to condemn him for his choice, but when he held it in his hands, he felt no pain.

'You are not worthy, child, but your intentions are just. Wield me.'

Damian thanked whatever it was that should be thanked for this small blessing and paid his full attention to Luke, who was busy spinning his weapon out around him with blazing speed. He had extended the chain to more than one hundred feet, and even though it was flowing in a gigantic arc around him, he was twirling it like it weighed nothing. At the same time, Damian saw that Luke was slowly retracting the chain and making the mace come ever-closer to him. At first glance, Damian could tell what he was doing: at the end of the retraction, Luke would have the built-up momentum and speed of a hundred feet housed into just a couple inches, and would then send all of that in one final strike that would be too fast to dodge and too strong to block. Damian's best bet would be to attack now, but Luke was spinning his weapon around too fast. Damian would get caught halfway by the chain. He would have to wait until it was close enough to Luke that he could reach him before an entire swing of the mace, thereby making Luke miss the full strength of the attack.

'That won't work, Damian.' Lucifer's voice broke into his head like a soft song.

'You are more than likely correct, however, there is no way to tell except to test it, is there?' Damian's eyes never left the flail.

'Oh come on, Damian.' Lucifer, for once, was sounding exasperated. 'You know that I can help you. You will die if you don't ask me for help. Your wounds are too grave, your weapon too weak, and your enemy too strong. It was a good idea to come as a group, but now that they've been taken out one-by-one, it's just you, me, and him. You need me. I'm the only one that can save you.' For a moment, he even sounded like he genuinely cared. 'Come on. Just ask me for a better weapon, for healing, for more power. I'm right here, I like you, I'll do whatever you want right now. I can save you!'

Damian could not deny Lucifer's logic, and somewhere within him he was touched by Lucifer's concern, but he lowered his head, gripped his sword, and got ready to spring. 'My life's not worthy of being saved. After all, I'm just scum.'

Those last words set of a chain of memories through Damian's head, and he could not help but reflect on his life, now that it was almost over. It had been a long one, for a human, but had been pretty short for a vampire. His life had been rather uneventful before the fateful day he had killed Wulf and avenged his family. After that, everything had spun out of control. He had been given a group to care for, and had to think of more than his own needs. He though of Lidian, with her beautiful white hair, and of Raphael and Leon, who had been his friends for many years. He had lost them along the way, and what he regretted most was that he had never truly been able to tell them goodbye. He thought of Vincent and Bryce, who were reconciled enemies, and of all of the vampire and werewolf captains he had fought against and alongside. But most of all, he thought of his father, mother, and little sister.

'I'm sorry, Helen, but I never was able to find anything about the God of the cross that you always had on you... But I really did try.' He would have spoken the words, but his tongue had been pierced and probably cut in half by Luke's first blow against him, and any coherent words were impossible. He closed his eyes as Luke's mace neared the end of its circle, and his thoughts drifted to Serenade.

'I'm glad I saved her. She is a good person. Much better than any of us damned beings. If Bryce ever lives through this, I hope they'll be happy.'

When he opened his eyes, all apprehension that had been inside him was gone, and Luke's mace was within fifteen feet of its owner. Now was the time to strike.

'Just a little more...Now!'

As soon as the chain reached ten feet away from Luke, Damian crouched and sprang forward. His body exploded in agony at the actions he sent through it, but he paid them no heed. This was the last action he asked of it. Blood was pouring from all over his body, and literally pumping from his leg, but it was as if all he had to do was run as fast as he could. He was able to devote all of his life to simply pushing his legs back and forth, and for a moment it looked like he was going to catch the gap. But then, without warning, Luke retracted the chain all of the way and sent it spinning out. With a split-second amount of clarity, Damian realized that Lucifer had told Luke of Damian's plan, and had warned him when Damian had moved. He silently cursed the his creator.

Right when Luke spun the weapon over his head one last time, the world slowed for Damian. He saw Luke's arms extend before the left one let go and the right one shot straight out, allowing the chain to flow from it as the tremendous swing began. Even in slow motion, the moment the attack began happened in the blink of an eye, and the power of the attack was so great that Luke's right arm snapped at the elbow from the kickback. The mace shot forward at a speed impossible to describe, and it was even sent from a slight angle so that, when it met Damian would be the exact moment when it snapped like the end of a whip.

Dodging was pointless, as was guarding, but Damian was not here for either of them. As soon as the attack began, he jumped into the air and flung his sword behind him. In only another moment he swung it back around and met the mace head on. From the first moment of impact Damian knew that there was no way he could compete with the attack in terms of strength of pushing power. It had the momentum of one hundred feet of chain behind it, and it was exactly at the apex of its swing. In fact, the only reason it had not completely blown him away was because Luke had lost a bit of power from having Bryce's knife enter his ribs. Still, it was too much, and Luke smiled, knowing that his final attack was the strongest. But Damian was not counting on strength.

'Tyrion, Nicole, Helen.'

With an ear-splitting snap, Luke's mace-head, which had smashed against the finest weapon ever made too many times, was cut in two by the Sword of Office. In an instant, Luke's smile vanished, as Damian tucked his legs under him, tucked his head to the side, and went through the two sides of the mace as they flew past him. He landed a few feet behind where he had met the weapon and immediately charged. Luke's mind sped with one thought.

'I have to run away and ask Lucifer for another weapon!'

But as he turned to flee, an arrow embedded itself into his left foot, sticking him to the ground for longer than he was willing to spare. Othniel smiled.

"Gotcha' punk."

He turned his panicked face to Damian, who was coming up at him with more speed than he thought possible, and knew where the attack would come from.

'It's alright, if I can just dodge this last one by spinning in a circle around my trapped foot, I can get away. If I can make it through this, I should be able to survive.'

His right foot began swinging in a circle around his left, but after only a foot it too stopped, and even though he knew he should not take his eyes off of Damian, he looked behind him to see Vincent's sword, still wedged into the ground by the handle, digging into the back of his leg and holding him there.'What? But. There's... No way he could have.' His mind was garbled as he shot his head back around to see Damian. But Damian was not there. Then his head tilted down, and Damian was right in front of him. It was only then that he realized he was going to die, and his thoughts shot to his sister who, he only now realized, he had really just been trying to save from all of this all along. It was stupid that he only now thought of this, he thought. How pointless.

Then Damian's sword was cutting up at an angle. First it sliced through Luke's hanging right arm at the elbow, then continued up into his rib cage, slicing through each rib and tearing open his right lung and other organs, before finally snapping his collarbone and finally cutting Luke's skull in half. His brains slid out of their bowl, and his body soon followed it and crashed to the ground after hanging in the air for a few moments.

"Holy damn." was all Lucifer was able to say before there was a flash of white and and all of them were back on the battlefield with a mass of bodies fighting around them. The white was seemingly seen by everyone fighting, because they all stopped and looked at the five warriors and the one on the top of the large throne. In moments, it seemed that the werepyres understood what had happened, as many had seen Lueke's original transformation into Luke, because they began kneeling. First those closest to the spectacle, then all others as well, as news was spread that they had been deceived into this battle. One, with extremely dark skin, spoke out.

"Great King and Matriarch Safiria, my name is Wolfwing, and we werepyres would like to parlay with you to decide on the terms of a treaty." His voice was husky from the fighting, but held an undercurrent of strength that said he could have fought on for hours.

Safiria and the King emerged from the crowd at the top of the hill, very much covered in blood, and moved quickly to Wolfwing's position. Their faces were more tired than their bodies. It was clear they had seen too many of their people die that day.

"We will parlay." Safiria looked relieved.

"Yes." The King agreed.

Almost as if a spell had been broken, the fighting ceased. Those that would not stop were corralled by their own race, and the armies began to form into their own races while the four rulers, including the commander of the Paladins, spoke on the terms of the treaty.

"Bryce!" Serenade screamed as she saw the elf on the ground, covered in his blood and vomit. She ran to him, disregarding the filth, and knelt next to him, cradling his head on her lap. When he made no movements, her tears fell hard on his face. Even as she cried, though, he opened his empty eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She cried even more and hugged him to her, smothering him in her arms.

"No!" The cry came from high on the throne. Lucifer was clearly not happy. He stood, stepped off of the throne, and a second later had fallen to the ground and was in front of Damian, who was still bleeding and was hunched over. Lucifer pointed one manicured finger at Damian. "Whom do you serve."

Damian wanted to scream "You!" as much as he wanted to swipe his weapon at his creator, but as he looked at his grotesque body, he realized that he might never return to normal. It was only then that the full repercussions of his choice to use Lucifer's power came to him. Suddenly the Sword of Office burned like it had never done before. It felt like all of the fires of Hell erupted in his hand, and for the first time since he had first picked it up, the sword fell from his hand in the sight of all those around him. It thudded to the ground with all of the finality of his mind. This was his fate, this was the life he had chosen to save his comrades... His friends. This was life. It was full of worthless, weak actions that were eventually pointless until one finally caved in and fell down. Everything he had done until now was worthless, just like him. He deserved this fate, to be damned forever.

But then he saw Serenade, with her arms wrapped around Bryce, crying into his shoulder even as she supported his weight. He realized their love, and thought that he had almost never seen anything so beautiful in either of his lives. With a start, he remembered the dream he had before the battle, remembered the peace and beauty he had felt in its warm embrace. For just one moment he felt that, maybe, he could have that kind of feeling. Maybe even one such as he could experience it. He closed his eyes, and the first thing that came into his sight was his sister's cross he had always carried with him ever since she had died. For some reason, it soothed him.

When he opened his eyes, it was lying across his clothed chest. As he looked down, he saw that he was back in his vampire form. His gaze shifted to Lucifer, who was livid, and he smiled. "I don't know, but it sure as hell ain't you."

Lucifer's face scrunched until it looked like the folds of skin on it would overlap one another, and his eyes were slits within his face. Without any warning he lunged forward, but stopped short with a gasp when an arrow buried itself in his leg. As his hands went toward it and his face changed to that of surprised pain, Damian could only watch as Othniel came up from behind him, picked up the Sword of Office, and stood between him and Lucifer.

"Remember me?" His voice carried without any effort. "I'm the one you called worthless."

Before Lucifer could respond he was cut in half, and Othniel was already behind him, his sword already finishing the swing. He turned around to see Lucifer's two halves splat to the ground, and he smirked.

"You're no god."

Lucifer's body condensed into black shapes before flowing through the air, coming into one, and floating in front of Othniel.

"Not yet." It whispered with the voice of an endless echo in a pitch-black cave, before flowing out and into one of its own portals. And just like that Lucifer was gone.

Damian looked at Othniel and gasped as a change began to take place in him, but before anything could truly take over him he threw the sword away from him with a look of disgust. He turned to the Commander of the Paladins. "Careful with that. Seems it's finally ready to make a new E, and I'm not going to be that guy."

The Commander called out to a close vampire slayer, who came up and picked up the weapon. He stiffened before being encased in a ball of light, and then E stepped out from within the light. Safiria cried out and went to him, touching his face.

"Brother!" She looked to on the verge of tears.

"Hello Christina." His voice was business-like, as if he had never left.

His tone changed her face, and she took a step back. "Do you intend to kill us all, brother. You know that your two armies more than likely could right now."

He did not even think for a second. "No, not unless you do not agree with my terms."

Her eyes flashed. "Which are?"

"To not kill humans, and to treat all who do kill humans as murderers and publicly execute them." His voice was firm.

All of the leaders agreed, and they were about to leave to sign the treaty when Sophitia walked up to Othniel. He was still standing where he had thrown the sword away, and had not moved. She looked up at him.

"Why didn't you take the sword? That was your chance to finally prove to yourself that you were brave. You could have been E, instead of just, you." Her voice was terse, but her eyes showed that she was glad he was alive.

He grabbed her by the small of her back and drew her to him, holding them together and kissing her with his bleeding lips. When they came away, shock was in her eyes, and he laughed.

"Because it's Othniel that you love, and I wouldn't give that up to be the ruler of the world." His voice smiled wider than his face.

Normally, such strong remarks would have earned him a hard slap, but this time she just chuckled and placed her head on his chest. "Yea, that is quite an honor."

Othniel's smile, which looked like it couldn't have ever gotten any wider, grew twice as much, and he turned to Damian with a face that could blind the sun. "Hey, Damian, I'm getting married!"

Damian chuckled, but even that movement felt overpowering. "That's great Othniel," he said weakly, "but I could really use some—"

His voice stopped short as a piercing pain shot through his entire body. It stung him like nothing before, and when he looked down, he saw a familiar blade sticking out of his chest. He staggered forward and fell to one knee while turning around. In front of him, his hands still holding the handle that was no longer in them, was Vincent. His face was ashen, but his jaw was set.

"Wh-why?" Was all Damian could stammer out, as he felt his strength slowly leaving him.

Vincent said nothing for a moment before shouting back at him with a voice filled with pain and anger. "Because you killed my sister! You killed Krystal! I told you. I told you!" His voice was dissolving into sobbing, but his face was filled with rage. "I told you I'd kill you. Told you not to trust me! Why'd you have to trust me? Pretend we were friends? You can't be friends with someone who killed your sister!" He fell to his knees, making his eyes on the same level with Damian's. "This was my revenge! Just like yours. See, we're no different. I was right!" His voice became desperate. "You would have done the same thing. You did the same thing. I'm right. I swear I'm right! I loved my sister!" He was crying when he was hoisted to his feet by a half-dozen vampires. They held him back with their strength, but he dragged them along with him toward Damian. "I loved my sister!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, his eyes boring into Damian's. "You deserved this! You deserved this!" Tears were falling down his face.

Damian felt the holy water beginning to corrode his flesh as Vincent was brought back away from him. His face contorted in pain. A crowd was gathering around them, of all races, and the five leaders were still close enough that they came. At first, everyone was silent, but then one solitary voice called out.

"Kill him."

The soldiers near Vincent pulled out their weapons, but Damian's cry stopped them in their tracks.

"No!" He cried out in pain. He was losing all of his feeling in his hands and feet, as all of the blood in his body was shooting toward where he had been wounded, trying to save him. "He's right, I did..." Another pause, as he began losing more and more control over his body. "Let him go. Please let him go, he shouldn't die because of..." His voice broke, and his words began slurring. At that moment he locked eyes with Vincent, who held them for a long second before his eyes finally fell to the ground as his body slumped within the grasp of his captors.

Now Damian's body was more out of his control than in it, and yet he still managed to stay on his knees. His vision began to blur, and darkness swam along the outside edges of his eyes. He swayed on his knees, his skin visibly peeling away from the metal in his chest. But then suddenly his eyes shot open, and in a voice completely devoid of any pain, he spoke one last time. "Let him go."

Then the holy water coursing through his veins hit his heart, and he fell backwards onto the ground, the impact shoving the sword even farther up his chest and into the night air. Darkness, true darkness, filled along the edges of his eyes, until there was nothing else besides it. He had no feeling, no senses, only darkness remained.

'Tyrion. Nicole. Helen.' His last thoughts dragged across his brain with the most agonizing slowness. It was all he could do to even think, as he felt his mind gradually recede. Still, it felt like something he must do still remained, and his mind stayed long enough for one last mortally slow, thought to creep through him. It was as if everything he was could be found there. 'I wonder...where...I'll...go." And then even his mind was gone, and the darkness reigned supreme.

The vampires holding Vincent slowly let go of him, and he still risked one last look at the crumpled body on the ground. His face changed between too many emotions for him to truly know, and after one long moment, he turned and sprinted away in the direction of the woods. The crowd parted before him, but he kept his eyes on the ground as he ran, seeing no one except for one dead body. No one could truly be sure from where it came, but they all felt they heard someone whisper "I have a champion."

All heads turned back to Damian, as Bryce walked up to him and softly picked him up before pulled the sword out of his back by the handle. He stared down at the face of his friend, but could not find it within him to smile. He wanted to say something about how much Damian's sacrifice had meant, about the epic things he had managed to bring about, but none of that mattered now that Damian was simply dead.

"You were a better man than any I have ever met, Damian." He laid the body back on the ground and walked away, as did everyone else.

The armies dispersed, and eventually the Dark Forest was divided into four peaceful sections: Vampire, Werewolf, Werepyre, and Human. A statue was raised, on the hill where the last stand was made, to commemorate the person who had brought it all about, but after a few years, no one ever visited it.

In a hundred years, in fact, only seven people still remembered the name of the vampire named Damian. A widower elf hermit, a bitter rouge vampire, the werewolf King, the vampire Matriarch Safiria, two vampire lovers, and Damien, a young half-elf child who grew up listening to the tales of the great warrior Damian he had been named after. Could any ask for anything more?


End file.
